


Life with you is ‘the shit’ (in all the wrong ways)

by xShieru



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkward Romance, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Humor, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mutual Pining, being bokuto is suffering, endgame bokuaka just a heads up, the world needs more novelist!akaashi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-02-13 23:34:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2169573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xShieru/pseuds/xShieru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. A modern ‘Lady and the Tramp’ story with less Disney and more confused guys not sure what to do with their feelings. Or dicks. Or pretty much everything in general.</p><p>When Bokuto literally crashes into a black-haired novelist beauty his epic college life turns weird. Then again when wasn’t it, when he shares an apartment with ‘imperialistic-reign-isn't-that-bad’ Sawamura Daichi, annoying house pet Oikawa Tooru and last but not least his BBFLAOFB (‘Best-Bro-For-Life-And-Occasional-Fuck-Buddy’, damn he needs to come up with a shorter name) Kuroo Tetsurou.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another story by yours truly. Don't worry it's completely unrelated to LOG pft. I just really needed some cliche romance. This chapter is aaaall Bokuto/Kuroo, just a heads up.

All stories need some vague introductions, or at least that’s what Bokuto Koutaro thinks (or would think if he was a bookworm which he absolutely isn’t). So yeah meet him, name mentioned before, twenty-two years old college student, handsome and flawless. It’s a flawless – just like his awesome hairstyle which he totally spends styling for thirty minutes every morning - self introduction and you know it.

Bokuto’s a simpleminded, easygoing dude, and people love him almost as much as they want to tape his mouth shut when he becomes a handful – and he does tend to be a drama queen at least three times on a good day. Of course he is not aware of this fact. In his eyes people _adore_ him and his charming personality.

Let’s not ruin that self-image and egocentrism. He gets it wrecked like ten times a day by his asswipe roommates either way, so. 

Well, all he can say is that over the few years he’s been sharing this tiny apartment located somewhere in Tokyo, he’s learned how to defend himself in the forms of sickest burns known to mankind and prank wars (there is a beautiful scar on his ass left behind from that last one).

So yeah when Bokuto isn’t working hard at college - he thinks he’s not smart enough for studies but he desperately needs that diploma - he has a part-time job just like the rest of his roommies. Sawamura works in a book shop (how very Sawamuraish, so plain and boring and _strict_ ), Oikawa is terrorizing little kids at a kindergarten as a part of some social experiment (Bokuto isn’t sure how that one is an actual thing, coz Oikawa shouldn’t be allowed near children or people in general. Ever) and Kuroo is doing god-knows-what (Oikawa thinks he’s a stripper. Sadly, Bokuto agrees.). 

And as for him…

Bokuto is the single most badass ramen delivery boy to ever grace Tokyo Metropolis and his boss agrees. He thinks that he has a pretty cool job since it utilizes his maneuvering skills when necessary. He delivers your stuff and he delivers it there _fast_. Heck, he could be a marathon runner, his time is pretty good.

The ramen shop even has some regulars who are pretty cool. This one guy is fun to talk to and then there’s this elderly couple who order every Tuesday and Friday without fail. The old lady always makes sure to pinch his cheeks, calls him a ‘nice young man’ – that one totally makes Bokuto’s pride swell and his cheeks flush with happiness – and tips him extra 500 yen.

“What are you even going to do with that?” Kuroo always sneers when Bokuto comes back home all shiny and ecstatic and overbearingly _positive_. Bokuto sometimes thinks that the ‘asshole personality’ and ‘stupid grin’ are encoded into his DNA because he almost never loses them. “It’s just 500 yen.”

“Dude, we are _college students_. It’s _money_.”

“So?”

Bokuto pats his shoulder in mock compassion and waves the cash in front of his roommies’ face just to piss him off. He knows that it’s working because Kuroo’s eyes are following his hand without fail, hungry twinkles shining in those black depths. Just to be clear all of them are a bit on the hobo side. “Do you know what I can do with 500 yen? I could go to that dollar store at the corner of the street. Do you know how much stuff I could buy there? Like five things. Five. If that’s not the sickest shit you’ve ever heard then get out of my face.”

Kuroo grabs him in a headlock. Sawamura tells him to shut the fuck up from his room. Life is normal.

*

It’s common knowledge that healthy young men are in a possession of a strong libido. Bokuto sometimes thinks that his is a little too strong. 

He can hardly control himself and it just so happens that at least four times a year he has to ‘get it out of his system’ before he develops a severe case of blue balls. Sawamura offers to castrate him once. 

“I would do a favor for humanity. We don’t need your seed spreading around. The IQ levels would drop to the extremes.”

Sawamura still doesn’t know that it was Bokuto who pretty much dumped his towel in itching powder while he was taking a shower. He blamed it on cat allergies.

“We don’t have a cat,” Kuroo pointed out, one eyebrow quirked.

Sawamura blushed beet red and left the room. That’s how they found out that the super secret ‘business’ the black haired man had to attend to every other day wasn’t, in fact, business at all.

-

One night Bokuto Koutaro makes the wrong decision and stays home instead of going to a club or a bar or whatever and picking up someone. Preferably barging into their home. It’s an unspoken rule to never bring the people they’re not serious about to their apartment, and they all follow it without fail.

He’s stewing in his sexual frustration, his mood ruined and getting worse with every second as Kuroo complains and bitches and does other Kuroo things. He keeps talking and he just won’t _shut. up._

Sometimes Bokuto wishes for people to disappear and leave him the fuck alone because the extra noise grates against his nerves in all the wrong ways. His heart hammers with loud thu-thumps and his blood flow is rushing downwards dangerously fast. He is quick to cross his legs and press one of the pillows to his lap as he groans and tells Kuroo to ‘shut up goddamn, because he can’t hear his own thoughts over the bitching’.

The black-haired man simply takes off his reading glasses as though he has expected this outburst all along, and he probably has, seeing as they’re the best of bros thus spiritually connected, tosses his work aside and glares.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he hisses, dangerously low and somehow that tone of his voice catches the interest of the other’s groin. Bokuto presses the decorative pillow even closer and tries not to stare too much at his best friend’s face, which is admittedly handsome but even more so now. “If you’re going to be a little bitch then get the hell out and get laid.” Bokuto doesn’t get a chance to blink as Kuroo rips the pillow from his hands and smacks it back down against his very much tender crotch.

“Ow, what the fuck!” he squeaks indignantly and tries to push Kuroo away but the guy only presses further and it _fucking hurts_. “Dude!”

“I’m going to crush that little hard-on of yours if you don’t leave and get rid of it. Go jack off or dry hump a fucking pillow or some shit, I seriously do not care. ” His words are followed by more pressure, he can feel the splay of Kuroo’s long fingers pressed against him and Bokuto wants to cry out but instead he moans. 

Kuroo’s eyebrows knit together for a fraction of second. Or maybe it was just his eyebrow game, Bokuto dimly thinks, his back pressed flush against the back of the sofa. After all like sixty percent of Kuroo’s doucheness was located in his eyebrows and what the fuck, who cares, why is he suddenly _aroused_? 

“You sick motherfucker,” his friend bites back and lets go immediately. Bokuto isn’t sure if the sigh which escapes his mouth is one of relief or crushing disappointment. 

Maybe his sexually frustrated mind was expecting something more. You know how it goes in the movies. You get knocked over on your back by someone insanely pretty, have hate sex. Good stuff. But yeah, life isn’t one of Oikawa’s shitty romance movies and now he fucked up big time.

Bokuto thinks if maybe he should apologize but his libido is still inflamed and his pride is hurt. “Fuck you,” he says and he really means it.

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Kuroo answers earnestly and something snaps within Bokuto, like a string pulled taut.

One moment his amber eyes are roaming Kuroo’s face, his mouth pulled in a teasing smirk radiating self-confidence, eyes black like an endless pit Bokuto is hovering the edge of, _always has been_ , except they’re sparkling with something mischievous, something close to challenging. Bokuto just can’t miss that one and when it suddenly clicks he almost slaps the sides of Kuroo’s face in his haste to get a good hold and kisses him deeply, ethics forgotten, tongue and all.

And it’s the best fucking kiss Bokuto’s ever had in a while.

Kuroo kisses him back with equal fervor and leans forward until Bokuto is lying down. Bokuto lets go of the reigns completely, because Kuroo fucking Tetsurou is a sexy menace and maybe he just wants to be dominated. The black-haired man hooks his thumbs in the loops of his jeans and tangles their legs together, purposefully letting his knee brush lightly against Bokuto’s rapidly heating arousal. Bokuto nips on Kuroo’s tongue in return, he should really learn how to stop teasing, _what an asshole_ , tastes lingering chocolate, coffee and cigarette smoke in that hot mouth, tangles his fingers in that messy bedhead of pitch black strands and tugs until Kuroo hisses and breaks the kiss with a mute ‘ow’.

They stare at each other for a moment, completely entranced. Bokuto’s mind buzzes like the static on the radio and in all honesty he’s not thinking much about anything other than the fact that Kuroo looks like some ancient Greek god sent from the Mount Olympus from Zeus himself with a note attached that he is here for the sole reason of having sex with Bokuto Koutaro. Because damn. Looking like this should be illegal. And oh man does Bokuto want him, even if it means ruining their friendship. 

He licks his wet lips hungrily. 

Kuroo regains some of his breath. “You really do look better with your hair down like this.”

“Mhm.”

“Should I—“

Bokuto lifts himself up a little and closes the short distance between their mouths again. This time he holds himself back yet when he pulls away he still runs his tongue along Kuroo’s bottom lip, extracting a stuttering sigh from the man hovering over him. 

“You can either talk or let me fuck you,” Bokuto says, unabashedly because he really is not thinking. Kuroo’s breath hitches and that mischievous spark returns to his eyes again. They seem even darker now that he is undeniably aroused and Bokuto is pretty certain about that one because he can clearly feel it on his thigh. Unless Kuroo is carrying a gun and he really does lead a secret life as a yakuza boss or so they thought at first. Bokuto moves his leg experimentally against him and Kuroo gasps, surprised. Nope, definitely a boner.

The man above him still doesn’t say anything though and Bokuto’s dick refuses to wait. This is either gonna end in mind-blowing sex or with him crying over their ruined friendship and jerking it in the shower. He doesn’t really want to consider option two. 

So he bites Kuroo’s lip playfully. “Hard?” he offers with a wink and Kuroo rolls his eyes at him. Jerk.

“You’re so full of yourself.”

“You can be full of me too if you want.”

“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said to me. And that says a lot.” Kuroo pinches him but his cheeks are pink and it’s definitely not the lighting’s fault. “I should’ve told Sawamura that it was you who caused his ‘cat allergies’. You need to do something about this.” Kuroo’s index finger brushes over the front of his jeans and oh, oh that was nice.

“Like bury it in your ass?”

“Like get it sliced off.”

“How am I going to screw you then?”

“Use your fingers, asshole.”

“Okay.”

“Wait. Wait, Bokuto I was kidding. P-Put me down. Dude, I’m going to kill you _so hard_ —“

Bokuto knows that if Kuroo really wanted to he would’ve escaped in five seconds, so he ignores the fake protests, crosses the short distance to his room, dumps the struggling man on his bed and locks the door behind him.

Huh who would’ve thought that face sucking Kuroo Tetsurou could feel so damn right? Bokuto would’ve asked him if this meant the end of their friendship but his mouth was a little too preoccupied and his hands were just as busy. 

Apparently life really did work like Oikawa’s romance movies.

*

Apparently it was common knowledge that Kuroo Tetsurou is loud in bed. Bokuto was never aware of that fact.

He’s not a screamer himself or anything like that but he has a loud voice. That’s a fact that everyone who’s ever stroke up a conversation with him knew all too well. 

They were bound to attract some unwanted attention a whole lot sooner than they thought.

“Do you have someone in there?” That painfully familiar voice echoes on the other side of the door. Kuroo curses and Bokuto almost loses his boner. Only one person has the power to do that and he goes by the name Oikawa Tooru. “House rules, Bokuto-kun!” the asshole chirps brightly, which means that he’s up to no good.

“I thought he was gone,” the black-haired man hisses, clawing at Bokuto’s upper arms viciously. They were right about to get the deed done but now the mood was plummeting down.

“I thought so too!” 

“Didn’t you check before you decided to ram me, you idiot?”

“Why would I check on that guy? There was a distinct lack of annoying noises so I assumed that he was out.”

“Well he’s not out,” Kuroo whispers, slightly panicked and points at the door which is rattling from Oikawa’s knuckles grazing it from the outside. “And he’s standing _right there_. Say something so he fucks off!”

“Like what?”

“I don’t fucking know, genius, you’re the cause of this.”

“Not me, him!” Bokuto whines and points downwards to prove his point. “Blame little Bokuto for this.”

Kuroo slaps his palm across his face harshly and takes in a deep breath to calm himself. “Your little Bokuto is going to be so bruised it will never get up again if you don’t come up with a plausible lie within ten seconds or so help me.”

Bokuto swallows nervously, fully knowing that Kuroo doesn’t do the whole empty threat thing and he is more than capable of fucking him up and it’s not in the way he would like. “Uh, I had a nightmare.”

Plausible. Not well executed.

“I heard moaning,” Oikawa answers, his voice dripping skepticism.

“That’s because it was a nightmare, dumbass.”

“Uhuh. And you’re obviously practicing voice acting in your sleep. Is it for special effects so that the dream is more realistic?”

“Yeah well maybe I was,” Bokuto says annoyed, not sure what to tell him. Kuroo punches him in the arm and angrily whispers ‘good comeback, idiot, now he _surely_ won’t suspect _a thing_.’

“Then please demonstrate it to me inside your room.”

Oh my god, this guy. This—ugh. “Oikawa, don’t you have better things to do? Like terrorize the city with your presence? Trick men into buying shit for you? Marry them and become their kids’ evil stepmother?”

“I was about to leave and I will once you open this door.”

“What’s it to you, fuck off.”

“I’m a member of this household and I respect the rules we set.”

“You’re just pissed that you can’t bring your boyfriend here.”

There’s a beat of silence followed by an annoyed hiss. “Don’t you dare.” Within seconds the banter escalates into a sass-off and Kuroo is forced to press a pillow over his face to drown it out and possibly suffocate himself in the process.

Oikawa shows no signs of fucking off any time soon and Kuroo makes the decision that puts a stamp on his and Bokuto’s relationship.

He gets up, slips on his boxers ignoring Bokuto’s hushed protests, takes out his wallet and slams the door open, hoping to catch Oikawa’s nose. The guy doesn’t need to be pretty and annoying at the same time.

Oikawa is silent, eyes almost bulging out from the sheer surprise. 

“You,” he says after a few seconds.

“Me.”

“Shit, really?”

“Nah not really, you’re just high on diet pills and in desperate need of glasses,” Kuroo retorts, voice mocking and smacks a few bills against Oikawa’s chest a bit too harshly. “Get the fuck out, buy yourself something nice and possibly don’t come back. Forever.” His dark eyes scan Oikawa’s appearance and he scrunches up his nose. “And go change, you look like you took a dive in Hot Topic.”

He doesn’t wait for the brown-haired man’s reply and slams the door, locking it for good measure.

Bokuto sits on the edge of the bed with his face hidden in his palms. Oikawa’s voice from the other side sends a shiver down his spine. “Well, have a pleasant evening! Sawamura totally owes me.” He cackles evilly like a true antagonist that he is and leaves.

Kuroo distracts him pretty well though when he crawls behind him and plants a bruising wet kiss on the ridge of his spine. It’s kind of reassuring.

Kuroo wonders if it’s too late to proclaim himself as the next Buddha. He’s such a kind guy, always taking care of Bokuto’s mess.

*

In the end their friendship is safe. Kuroo doesn’t see a problem with fooling around occasionally and frankly speaking neither does Bokuto. In the end they are still the same without a hint of awkwardness together, they still fight over marshmallows, annoy Sawamura, argue over dumb stuff like zombie apocalypse vs alien invasion, annoy Oikawa, fight over the last can of beer and then annoy Oikawa some more because Oikawa is easy to annoy. 

Sawamura’s angry the following day, it’s written all over his face and Oikawa’s looking way too smug. They sit down to eat at the same table and sadly that happens once a week. Oikawa is chewing on his rabbit food while texting, fingers almost flying over the screen of his iPhone, Sawamura looks like someone pissed in his cereal and Bokuto is fucking _shining_.

Mostly because he got laid. Partly because he and Kuroo are chill.

In fact he is so damn happy that he starts an inconspicuous foot war with Kuroo under the table. They do it all the time because Kuroo has a tendency to kick his shin whenever Bokuto says something stupid but this time it escalates and before he knows it, it turns into something else entirely. Bokuto presses his foot against the inside of Kuroo’s thigh and watches his face colour though he speaks properly, without stuttering. His expression is slightly pinched and it doesn’t escape Sawamura’s scrutinizing gaze.

He sets the spoon back down with a loud clatter, his expression dark. “Please tell me that you’re not doing what I _think_ you are.”

Oikawa raises his head, curious. Kuroo simply stares at Sawamura, his face blank. “Depends on what you think. I’m eating, if that’s what you’re implying.”

Now here’s the thing about Sawamura Daichi. The man keeps them all in check, that’s for sure. He seems more mature than the rest of them though it’s not quite true, but nobody notices. He’s the one who sets the rules and schedules for all of them and he doesn’t rule over this flat, he _reigns_. He’s like a great ruler and Bokuto thinks that some moments in their life are akin to the lives of people who lived clasped in a steel palm of dictatorship. In other words Sawamura is a grade A hardass.

“Mind getting up?”

Kuroo stares, a smile stretching his lips as he sends Bokuto a meaningful look. “Are you positive you want me to do that, Sawamura?”

“Disgusting.” Oikawa shakes his head and gets up from the table. Sawamura follows.

They don’t do ‘family dinners’ anymore.

-

It happens a few more times. It’s the kind of relationship where one moment you could be watching TV and the next you could be making out. Most of the times they’re wasted more than they should be. A few times after clubbing, a few times during some parties they attended, they both can’t recall whose they were anyway, and then there was the ‘Seven minutes in heaven’ thing gone wrong in Lev’s closet. They were happy, their friends? Not so much.

Especially Lev.

Well he fucking offered it, so it’s his problem. Who the hell owns such a cramped closet anyways?

The more time passes the more Bokuto starts to realize that this thing is turning into something. Or maybe he wants it to become something, he isn’t sure. 

Two months later the whole crew goes out ice-skating. Bokuto wants to go because, as Kuroo put it, he’s an overgrown five-year-old, but that’s not quite it. He drags Kuroo along, fully knowing that the man sucks at the ice-skating thing. That’s where he puts his plan in motion. 

It would’ve gone smoothly if it wasn’t for the fact that Bokuto didn’t know how to skate either and he naively thought that he could learn it within five minutes. He thought that it would be easier and he is proved so very wrong after he and Kuroo fall for the fifth time, Bokuto landing on his ass, which is going to look like a giant bruise, that’s a fact, legs tangled with the black-haired man’s. 

“You suck,” Kuroo groans and tries to get up, but only slips. Bokuto doesn’t have much luck either. Lev skates by in lighting speed while laughing at them. “I hope he falls and breaks a leg,” the black-haired man mutters darkly. Bokuto focuses on the tip of Kuroo’s nose dusted light pink from the cold and when he’s sure no one is around, he grabs the man by his striped scarf and presses their lips together.

He’s gentle and careful with that fragile kiss, hoping to feel some sort of spark that sends shivers down his spine and makes his toes curl but there’s nothing. He feels absolutely _nothing_ other than the warmth of Kuroo’s chapped lips. Maybe a twinge of lust tickling his stomach but that was expected.

Kuroo stares at him strangely, his eyebrows raised and Bokuto tries to hide his disappointment. “Uh, mind giving me a hand?”

“Sure?” The questioning look does not disappear, doubt lacing Kuroo’s voice. 

They fall again.

After that, Bokuto realizes that no matter how much he tries, he can’t fall in love with Kuroo and that just sucks because he _wants to_. He really does.


	2. Chapter 2

Eventually he stops thinking about it and goes with the flow. The love related bullshit finds a lonely corner inside his mind and he doesn’t visit it. 

“If you want to have a good time,” Kuroo says one morning, his bedhead extra messy. Black bags under his eyes complete the image. “Then drag your lazy ass like a few meters to my door instead of waking me up with snapchat notifications and dick pics next time, alright? I’ve been up till 4 am, and I have that stupid physics exam today—” He yawns tiredly and opens the cupboard. Bokuto is leaning against the counter, waiting for his cereal to get a little soggier. It's a process he dislikes. Especially when he's _starving_.

“Sorry, babe,” he says jokingly and grins lazily. “Please forgive me?”

“I’ll forgive you if you let me have your cereal. We’re out.” Kuroo sighs/yawns.

The gray-haired man holds onto his bowl of cereal protectively. “No deal! Starve to death.” He sticks his tongue out for good measure. 

“I hope you choke on that spoon, asshole.”

Yeah, life is pretty normal for Bokuto Koutaro.

-

Or so he thinks until he needs to deliver ramen to some big-shot businessman before his meeting and he’s fucking late to work. Mori and Konoha had chatted his ear off and before he knew it he was late late late, so damn _late_ —

Thankfully the place is nearby and Bokuto knows that if he runs at his full speed he can get there in eight minutes or even less. The streets are packed with people, the usual 6 pm rush about to start so without thinking too much about it, Bokuto chooses a shortcut. It’s easier to navigate and he probably doesn’t need to worry about running over some people. So he doesn’t.

And it would’ve been in his best interest to do it.

His mind is full of bullshit thoughts and he doesn’t watch his step and so he doesn’t even notice a figure in front of him, just as unfocused as he is. Bokuto twists to the side out of habit but it’s too late and he crashes against the person. His delivery flies high up in the air, there’s a loud shattering sound and his vision goes splotchy. There’s a distinct pain on the side of his face – his stupid delivery probably scratched him when it fell – and someone is hovering above him. 

“No no no! No, this is absolutely _not_ happening.” Whoever this person is, definitely a male judging by the voice, they are panicking. With a groan Bokuto tries to open his eyes. “This has to be the worst timing, watch where you’re go— are you okay?”

“Shit, I’m so sorry…” Bokuto squeezes out through clenched teeth and hisses when something probes at the painful part of his face. That guy’s touching it tenderly and he flinches back. Accident or not, he’s not about to let some creep get too close. He opens his eyes and looks up.

The breath leaves his lungs all at once.

He comes face to face with a tired looking man. A _perfect_ tired looking man. The guy is by no means older than he is, judging by his face. He’s dressed in obviously expensive clothes and Bokuto would’ve blanched at that if he wasn’t so entranced by those slightly lidded dark eyes. Everything about him is perfect to Bokuto though to the eyes of strangers this guy might look like a scrawny young man who could use a long day of rest. 

The guy is frowning just the tiniest bit and Bokuto really can’t blame him. His eyes project a whole spectrum of annoyance but he seems genuinely concerned for Bokuto’s well-being despite the fact that it is supposed to be the other way around.

That glimpse of concern makes Bokuto’s brain overheat and he croaks out a response that will go down into history books as the most embarrassing thing to ever happen. 

“You’re beautiful.”

All the sympathy goes out the window the moment he says that, replaced by mildly annoyed confusion. The mystery guy’s cheeks colour bright pink, his frown deepening. “I’m sorry, what?”

Too ashamed to say anything else, Bokuto touches the side of his face. Fuck, that _stings_. “Uh, I said I’m alright. Are you?” he asks, concerned. Damn he really didn’t mean to cause any troubles for this guy. Ramen and businessmen can always wait. Maybe. Shit, he really doesn’t want to lose his job.

“No, I’m not fine,” the guy answers with a hint of desperation to his voice. “I’m not physically hurt but my work… I spent two days on this, and the last thirty pages are completely ruined and of course my laptop _crashed_ yesterday so these are the only original documents I have, so no, _I am not okay_.” He ends his rant angrily while running his hands through his messy hair. Bokuto feels like clawing out a hole in the pavement and burying himself. He messed this up so bad. 

And he messed up a lot indeed. His cracked delivery bag has shit oozing out and around them a bunch of papers are scattered. The ones closest to the bag were soaked in soup. Damn he’ll have to repay his boss for this mess and he can only hope that the papers weren’t important enough for him to get sued. Judging by the black-haired guy’s freak-out they meant a lot to him which means a whole lot of trouble for Bokuto. Right now.

“Uhh, let me help?” he offers awkwardly and passes him some papers, too afraid to look at the contents but the guy merely turns him down, a malicious look in his eyes.

“No, thank you. I think you did _more_ than enough.”

Hot or not, wow isn’t he a bit rude. Bokuto’s eyebrow twitches. “I’m well aware that I crashed into you, but weren’t you spaced-out? You could’ve avoided this if you paid more attention to your surroundings.”

He expects some sort of biting response but the guy merely sighs and nods slowly. “I—yeah, I didn’t sleep well tonight so it’s hard to focus. Sorry.” He takes the papers from Bokuto, fingers brushing lightly in the process. “I don’t want to seem rude or anything but this is a stressful time for me and I was bound to bump into someone. I was going to a meeting… which I’m late for,” he trails off once he takes a look at his wristwatch. With a deep sigh the guy plops down on his butt and closes his eyes.

“This has to be a bad day for you.”

The guy makes a sound of approval in the back of his throat. “Since I won’t have anything to show might as well not go at all.”

Bokuto reaches for a few more papers before the wind blows them away. He looks at the contents. It is a page which obviously belongs to a book, a bunch of corrections written down with red pen above certain words and sentences. “What are these?” he wonders out loud. The black-haired beauty lazily opens one eye to stare at him. A cold stare, really.

“Pages of a novel I was bringing to my publisher. I’ll have to redo everything.”

Bokuto ignores the guilt-trip comments and squints at the page, realization dawning on him. “You wrote this?”

“Yes.”

‘That’s so awesome.’ Bokuto would’ve said but he’s already on the guy’s blacklist so he might as well keep his mouth shut. How many pages were there? A hundred? Possibly more? Now he knows that essays take a long while to write and just the mere thought that he had ruined his work, which was, judging by the looks of it, at least ten or twenty essays long makes his stomach churn with guilt. “Uh, I see,” he trails off lamely.

The beautiful guy quirks one thick eyebrow. “Uhuh. And what about you? Are all delivery boys aiming to kill random strangers?” His voice seems livelier but his expression stays stoic so Bokuto isn’t sure what to make of it. Was that meant as a joke or accusation? 

“Only the bad ones.” He smiles brightly, hoping to get some reaction but he doesn’t. The guy remains almost painfully impassive. “It was a quick delivery to some businessman before his meeting. I was late and now the poor man is most likely starving.” 

“You could lose your job because of this.”

“I’m well aware, thanks.” It’s now Bokuto’s turn to act rude as he inspects the damage. There goes his wage. Probably along with his job. Hoo-fucking-ray. 

“I guess we are both stuck then.” The guy stands up, dusts off his black dress pants and bends down to take the pile of messy papers. Bokuto doesn’t stare. Definitely. “Now about the payment…”

 _Oh shit oh shit oh no_ , he’s going to get sued and then all of his money will be taken from him and he’ll become a true hobo. Sawamura will undoubtedly kick him out of the apartment if he can’t pay his share of fees. He will have to live under a bridge. 

Damn, he can’t afford a lawyer and at the same time pay the guy for ruining what was obviously the prototype of his unpublished _novel_.

“Tell me how much I owe you,” he inquires plainly and takes out his wallet.

Bokuto stares, shocked. “What?”

He only sighs, irritated. “I spaced out, you ran into me and you didn’t get the delivery in time plus damaged it. So tell me how much.”

“I’m not taking money from you! I’m the one who ran into _you_ and ruined your hard work! If anything you should be chasing me and threatening me with lawsuits,” Bokuto blurts out and the other only blinks slowly, honestly confused.

“I can always print it out again? It’s just a few pages.”

“But you said these were the only originals.”

“No, I meant that the last thirty pages were original. I have everything else saved right here.” He fishes out a flash from his pocket and shows it to Bokuto. “Sure, it would’ve been better if none of this had happened but I think the damage is equal and while you can’t really do much for me, I thought I could at least try to help you.”

Bokuto’s heart flutters pleasantly inside his chest and he racks his mind for appropriate responses. It’s considerably hard because this guy stays in his field of vision no matter how much he tries to look aside and he can’t get those beautiful eyes out of his head no matter how much he wants to. Not enough, obviously. “If you’re not going to meet your publisher and if you’re not busy, you could… accompany me back? Tell my boss what happened and I’ll treat you to some ramen so we can be somewhat even. How does that sound?”

Is he imagining things or did the other get flustered? “I guess I could. But only for a short while. I have another meeting I need to attend to in an hour, so if it’s nearby then... Lead the way?”

Bokuto cannot contain a huge grin that lights up his face. His cheeks flush when he sees that his good mood seems to be infecting the stoic man as well. He knows that he didn’t imagine that small yet reluctant smile. 

“Of course!”

-

He does most of the talking. The guy doesn’t seem to be much of a conversationalist but he talks a proper amount if you are the one to initiate it. So Bokuto uses that knowledge and asks him everything that comes to mind, filling that ten minute long walk with words. 

It seems that the mystery guy is a writer working on his third novel. He doesn’t ask how old he is but he knows that it’s close to his own age when he tells Bokuto that he’s attending Tokyo University (that one makes Bokuto’s jaw drop a little because TU is some serious prestige). He says that he hasn’t been in the country for a long while and returned only a few years ago.

“I lived in Russia since I was sixteen. My father’s main office is located in Moscow,” the man tells Bokuto. “I didn’t like it there.”

“Why not? It seems pretty cool.” Not like he knows that one for sure. Lev told him that his homeland is awesome. Or maybe Lev’s just really passionate about it, he can never be certain.

“Cool in a literal sense, yes. The winter temperature is absolutely awful there. A few times I was certain I’d freeze to death. My family told me that we were leaving ten days before the actual move. I didn’t even have the time to learn the language properly. It’s really difficult, too.”

“So you can speak Russian?” Bokuto questions, excited. He’s never properly learned a language that’s not Japanese. You do not want to know about his English grades.

“A little.”

“That’s awesome. Can you teach me sometime?”

His companion stops abruptly, his eyes widening to the point they lose the heavy-lidded look. Bokuto doesn’t even notice that he just implied they might meet a second time. “I suppose so?”

“Sweet! I have a friend from Russia but he always refuses to teach me. To be honest I don’t think he even knows any Russian.”

They share more stories and before they know it, the ramen shop comes into the view. Bokuto unabashedly grabs his companion’s free hand, enjoying the warmth and the slight twitch of surprise and drags him inside.

-

Bokuto has to duck out of the way when a bowl comes hurtling in the general direction of his face. His boss is furious with him and even though the stranger explains the situation, he doesn’t forgive him that easily. As promised Bokuto pays for his food and is about to settle on the chair beside him to continue their earlier conversation but his boss grabs him by the back of his collar.

“Where do you think you’re going, lover boy?” he hisses menacingly and Bokuto is damn upset because what the fuck, _this isn’t fair_ , he needs to be here and get a phone number or the guy’s name at least. He was too engrossed in their chat to even think about it. “I told you to go do the dishes.”

“But-”

“No buts. _Now_.”

The guy looks up from his bowl, chewing on a slice of beef languidly and sends him a sympathetic look. Bokuto feels like getting on his knees and begging for at least few more minutes. “I’ll come back in a few!” he yells. People stare their way and his companion shrinks in the seat, seemingly ashamed that he is even a little related to the troublemaking staff member. 

“You’re not going anywhere until this stack is sparkling,” his boss bellows and Bokuto’s eyes bulge when he sees it. He won’t finish it in a week. He would be close to Mount Everest in height if he climbed on the very top of the pile. Plus Bokuto hates doing the dishes; they make his hands all gross.

“Waaah! You can’t do this to meee!”

“I can and I will. Now start. Izumi will keep an eye on you so you don’t slack off. Chop-chop!” His boss claps his hands and grudgingly Bokuto drags himself to the kitchen.

Stupid bosses and stupid everything.

-

He’s working overtime and the stack is still not finished. Bokuto is pretty damn sure that this is unethical, but right then he doesn’t want to think, too tired to even move. His back kind of hurts and he’s gained enough muscle mass with all that scrubbing to lift a tank. In the very end his boss relents and lets him off the hook. He kind of feels bad for ruining Bokuto’s chances to get a date.

Except that he hasn’t, but he does not need to know that.

The sky is a black cloud covered abyss above his head by the time he leaves the premises through the back entrance. Bokuto breathes in the cool air slowly, enjoying the sounds of nightlife. One of the main reasons why he loves Tokyo so much is coz it never sleeps and never tires - there's always _something_ going on. He leisurely exhales and the air leaves his lungs in a soft whisper.

“Akaashi Keiji, huh…”

It makes his stomach do the thing again and Bokuto refuses to let out a loud victorious hoot in case his boss might overhear. 

Bless Izumi. Seriously he will have to treat him to some hot chocolate.

A few minutes after he had been banished to the kitchen to slave over cleaning the grime from white bowls, his lovely stranger finished his food and rose up from his chair, ready to leave. By then Bokuto was turning into a whining mess. Izumi shot him an apologetic look and sighed.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t see it. But if the boss comes in, you’re on your own.”

That was more than enough as Bokuto abandoned his duties and stealthily snuck out of the kitchen. His boss was nowhere to be seen so he popped up from behind the counter, scaring his companion.

“Don’t do that.” Was all he said as he tried to compose himself.

“Oops.” Bokuto smiled broadly and scratched the back of his head. ”So how was the meal? Pretty good I bet! Best ramen in all Japan.”

“Enjoyable.” The stranger nodded in agreement and looked downwards. He seemed uncomfortable. “It would’ve been even better if your boss wasn’t glaring at me.”

“Yeah he kinda gets like that sometimes. Sorry 'bout that.”

“It’s nothing.”

The atmosphere grew awkward and Bokuto shifted his weight from one foot to another, not sure how to ask him… right about anything. For the first time in his life he realized that he had nothing to say. It seemed that during their time of separation the whole ‘friendly vibe’ downgraded to ‘forced politeness’.

“So, I need to get going now,” the guy broke off the silence and looked towards the entrance, keen on leaving as soon as he could. “Thank you for the meal—“

He abruptly turned on his heel and Bokuto almost ended himself by jumping forward to grab the guy’s arm. He was half lying on the counter, toes barely reaching the ground and that kinda hurt. “Can you at least tell me your name so I don’t have to refer to you as ‘nameless stranger’ inside my head?” he pleaded and slid back down so he was standing again.

The black-haired man stayed really still for a few seconds and turned around slightly, removing Bokuto’s hand. For a moment Bokuto thought that he wouldn’t get anything but then the guy looked away again, cheeks dusted pink.

“Akaashi…” he said silently, the grip on the messed up pages strengthening. “Keiji.”

Bokuto swore that everyone was looking their way by now.

“I’m Bokuto Koutaro,” he shouted after Akaashi’s quickly retreating back. “It’s nice to meet you!”

“Likewise,” the black-haired no-longer-nameless writer called out and right before he left, he smiled sweetly.

A few clients applauded. Some kid shouted ‘smooth!’ and Bokuto bowed overdramatically, heart hammering somewhere in the back of his throat. It didn’t last for long though and he had to crouch down so that he wouldn’t get spotted by his boss who suddenly emerged from the staff’s bathroom to see what the sudden commotion was about. No one betrayed him and so Bokuto slithered back to the kitchen. He could totally star in a movie with these camouflage skills.

Izumi congratulated him and threw a pair of wet gloves at his face. They noisily slapped against the red bruise blooming on his jaw.

The same bruise Akaashi was touching tenderly, the same bruise his eyes inspected carefully.

And that was the exact moment Bokuto realized that he had fallen not once, but twice.

He had fallen in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The updates might slow a tiny bit because SCHOOL IS ALMOST HERE orz orz orz Last year, too. I gotta do well. somehow (sobs coz i'm just like Bokuto, i only need the diplomas)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I'm actually updating this I thought this will end up as another abandoned story. I'm super sick atm so this chapter is extra wtf. New updates soon I hope.

Bokuto likes to think of himself as a pretty chill dude who has a good grasp on his emotions. That’s complete bullshit, but that’s just how it is and there is absolutely nothing to be done about it. You can’t prove him otherwise. Many have tried.

Many have suffered his dejected piss baby mode.

May your sanity rest in peace, brave soldiers.

The moment he gets home, he sprints to his room, completely ignoring Sawamura’s and Oikawa’s halfassed greetings (the latter is completely immersed in yet another Korean drama, his eyes slightly damp). Bokuto pays no mind to the suspicious looks sent his way. He can think about those later, right now he has a mission on which his life depends.

He is glad that Kuroo is still working and doing his Kuroo things, because that means he can use the guy’s laptop to his heart’s content - Bokuto’s laptop had broken down three weeks ago and was now being repaired. 

It had been one of the more wild nights, which was rather unusual since they lived under Sawamura the Hardass’ dictatorship. Bokuto can barely remember what happened. However, he does know that their ‘fun time’ involved a volleyball, edible glitter, a match and three bottles of aspirin. Oikawa had filled in the details that he had forgotten, stuff like the window that somehow got covered in gooey black mass, which he had to scrub until it sparkled, the ancient cat lady with Buddha earlobes who lived next door and threatened to end their fun with police.

Yeah, good times.

Sawamura had been absolutely livid once he returned and saw the chaos that had broken out during the span of eight hours that he had spent with his family. Oikawa’s essay had been set on fire along with Bokuto’s laptop but no one could remember who was the one in fault of all that. The shadow of suspicion was falling on Kuroo but the guy only snickered at their attempts to prove it.

Bokuto turns on the laptop and bounces on his bed, his fingers twitching slightly. How the hell can Kuroo work with this slow thing?

The internet browser fully loads only eight minutes later and Bokuto closes one hundred tabs or so, half of their content full of—

That explains the lagging. Well, at least his best friend has some nice porn choices. Bokuto makes a mental checklist with a note to try some of the kinkier stuff later on. He's sure that Kuroo will appreciate it.

Porn isn’t exactly his main concern and he clicks a new tab. He hesitates for three seconds at most, feeling like a total creep but his need to know is far too great so it easily overpowers the little doubts lingering in his mind. Bokuto makes another mental note to delete the internet history after he's done and gets to work.

\--

Creeper life isn’t the one for him since he is so damn straightforward to the point some might think of it as offensive, but damn, it feels good.

That night Bokuto Koutaro finds even more about his newfound object of affections.

Akaashi had said that he was a writer and that this wasn’t his first published work, yeah? So it only makes sense that there should be at least some info on the internet. To be honest, Bokuto's very curious about those works to the point he is itching to read them and he despises reading. It _bores_ him and he always finds more entertaining stuff to do. Plus his attention span isn't that huge, more akin to that of an easily distracted squirrel. 

In short he just can’t get into the whole plot thing no matter what genre the book is, and if you can’t do that much then it’s obvious that it is not meant to be. 

He’s uncertain how he managed to ace his Japanese literature exams. The final grade was barely above average but he really did pass and that’s all that matters. Bokuto knows that he had passed not because his parents had forced a tutor on him with whom he had hit it off three lessons in - the guy was less interested in books and more in Bokuto’s mouth anyways - but mostly because he has admirable essay bullshitting skills. Bless all of those book summaries he had been cramming till he could quote them even when woken up at 3 am.

Bokuto scrolls the infinite webpage full of links and comments from Akaashi’s fans. Lucky for him the guy didn’t exactly use a different name for his works. The pen name ‘Natsukawa Keiji’ causes some raised eyebrows. Akaashi had revealed his true identity after his second novel had been published but the idea of suddenly changing his exclusive pen name hadn’t appealed to him.

Bokuto feels a pang of jealousy when he reads some especially lovestruck comments of what he assumes to be teenage girls. Most of Akaashi’s works have received positive feedback, though some of the people gave lesser ratings because they deemed the novels too complicated for their liking. 

‘ _Natsukawa-san delves too much into his main character’s mind, focuses most of his attention on his most secretive thoughts, doubts and carefully analyses what he’s feeling, thus not giving us enough information about what’s happening in the character’s surroundings._ ’ Bokuto’s eyes skim the criticizing comment. ‘ _For those who are looking for a great psychological read, or just those people who are often lost in their thoughts and question the values of family and friendship, I highly recommend it. I’d analyze some more – what really got me was the relationship between the crown prince and his soldier who also happened to be his childhood friend – but I’m not very good with context to begin with—_ ‘

In the end it was a solid eight out of ten and Bokuto is beyond curious. It seems that people enjoyed Akaashi’s second work the most, set in the middle ages and far too complex for Bokuto’s mind to comprehend. He wants to give it a try though. He may not understand it or even like it but if it means feeling just a little closer to Akaashi…

He checks out a few more sites, almost squeals delightfully when he sees a tiny little picture of his crush. Keyword: tiny.

He can’t make out anything other than the messy hair and the bored expression caught on the black and white shot but he saves it anyways. Every little thing is precious. He needs everything he can get.

Bokuto has some hopes that maybe one or two of the more obsessed fans had leaked a home address or maybe a phone number but there’s nothing like that and he did do a double check. He’s a bit desperate. 

And then the challenging part comes.

Bokuto barely fights away the urge to bang his head against the wall or some other solid surface when he sees that everything on this page, the most interesting page mind you, is written in _glorious Russian alphabet._

He feels an urge to kick Lev and then himself for not learning it.

It’s common knowledge that page translators are actual shit and much to Bokuto’s annoyance it gets confirmed once again when he tries it out. He can’t make out anything legible or string together any actual sentences other than occasional words. It seems that this site includes information about Akaashi’s background in general and Bokuto cannot fucking read it.

He smites down the budding thought that maybe he should ask Lev for help. Fuck that guy, he probably would read as much as Bokuto can with this shit translator. Besides he would undoubtedly question about Akaashi and the next day everyone would know. 

The last blow to Bokuto’s sanity is delivered when he clicks one of the links some fan had left and he has to squint at the way too pink webpage for at least five minutes.

There are almost tangible question marks popping above his head when Bokuto opens his mouth and only one sentence rolls off his tongue. 

“What the hell is a ‘fanfic’?“

Fuck it, he’s gonna read it.

\--

Bokuto’s certain that he won’t ever say ‘fuck it’ again, but he _can’t stop_ reading as disturbed as he is.

He's horrified yet intrigued and now he kind of understands that ‘homoerotic subtext’ some fans were discussing earlier. He doesn’t know whether it’s a good thing or not. 

\--

Kuroo comes back home to find at least another hundred tabs open on his snoozing laptop, none of them related to his porn, rather some sort of book. The book’s author most likely. Bokuto is buried under the blankets that are pulled up to his nose. He’s staring at the screen of his phone intently and Kuroo would’ve thought that he’s playing again but his fingers are completely still except for the occasional flick across the screen. When he’s done closing the tabs, curiosity reaching insane levels, the black-haired man openly eyes his friend. Bokuto still doesn’t notice.

Strange. Is he feeling sick?

He makes no snarky comments about Kuroo’s porn choices and doesn't jump his bones or whatever. Actually he kind of expected the guy to be passed out, just like Oikawa who was peacefully snoring away on the sofa when he came back, some chick flick playing on the TV. You know, the usual.

Kuroo crawls closer and takes a peek at what Bokuto’s doing and his eyes widen comically once he sees a wall of text. He doesn’t read a single word and suddenly recoils. 

“Are you reading?” he questions, eyebrows raised. 

Bokuto’s silent for a few seconds and then makes a low sound of approval in the back of his throat.

Kuroo doesn’t know whether he should take pics or call the doctor and bring Bokuto to the hospital, specifically the emergency room to get his head checked because this isn’t _natural._ He kind of wants to laugh at the view. “I didn’t know you were capable of reading,” Kuroo says, his usual smirk in place and Bokuto’s amber eyes flicker to his face, eyebrows slanting down in a frown. Finally something normal under this sun.

“I didn’t know you were into crossdressing,” He counters and the black-haired man wants to laugh again, feeling something very close to relief.

“If I say yes will you wear a skirt for me?” he teases and lays down on his side, head pressed against Bokuto’s thigh, enjoying the feeling of comfort while it lasts. He’s been feeling rather touchy-feely tonight. Kuroo feels Bokuto’s leg tense and twitch when he rubs his cheek against it, a blatant invitation.

“ _Yeah sure whatever—_ ” Bokuto groans in response when Kuroo swiftly pulls the sheets aside and scratches his blunt nails against the inside of Bokuto’s thigh. Kuroo always knows which buttons to press to get him hard within a few seconds. Not that it takes much talent. Kuroo’s fingertips are five distinctive points of heat sliding under his shirt and pushing it aside, replaced by the black-haired man’s mouth, teeth sinking into the side of Bokuto’s hip. 

He sucks in a sharp breath out of pure reflex. “I’ll even put on fucking cat ears if you want, so quit teasing.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He can feel Kuroo’s smirk against his skin but then the other distracts him by dipping his fingertips under the elastic of his boxers and Bokuto’s a goner, phone momentarily forgotten.

\--

Kuroo’s fingers lock around his hips in a vicious grip and Bokuto lets out a whine that is one half desperate and one half annoyed. 

“What,” he bites back, obviously unhappy that he can’t get a release and that ain’t fair because it was Kuroo, _that fucking slut_ , who had initiated it to begin with. 

The other is having none of his shit though. He only holds their eye contact, hovering above his painful arousal. Bokuto would kick him but that would result into not getting any service at all and he cannot risk that.

“I’m about to fucking blow you here and you’re spacing out,” Kuroo hisses and it dawns on Bokuto that it’s true and there’s no escape. 

He’ll have to tell Kuroo about Akaashi eventually. It feels sort of unreal. Even if Bokuto’s heart still flutters whenever he thinks about those cool fingers against his face and that twitchy palm that he had held onto, his body is Kuroo’s slave. Nothing has changed; he still feels the same need, same arousal. Maybe he’s not nearly enough intrigued by Akaashi as he had initially assumed. 

Akaashi’s an innocent child-like fantasy of pure love which includes sappy dates and loving gazes, hand holding and stolen kisses while Kuroo is something dark and intimate. Something that is real.

Kuroo slaps his thigh and pulls Bokuto out of his thoughts. His mouth opens on its own. “Met someone amazing today.”

Kuroo freezes for a moment, confused, unsure what to do or say or how to react in general. He combs his fingers through his mussed hair, a tad awkwardly. “Oh that’s… nice I guess. What are they like?” He kisses the skin above Bokuto’s navel which makes the other relax. Maybe it’s not that awkward. Maybe this is how it’s supposed to be. 

Bokuto brushes the straying pitch black strands from Kuroo’s eyes. “Ah well the guy writes. Pretty cool huh?”

“Mhm. That’s why you were reading?”

“Yeah. He’s pretty popular. Has a fanbase and everything. Fans write fics and shit…” Kuroo licks at the side of his ribcage, sucking a red spot there. Bokuto’s slowly forgetting what they’re talking about. His black-haired friend, currently a fuck buddy, raises his head up so he can get a proper look at Bokuto, slight confusion reflected in those eyes that are all dilated pupils and no dark, almost black, brown. 

“The hell’s a ‘fic’?” he questions and Bokuto distracts him by pulling him up for a kiss.

“You don’t wanna know.”

“Sure.”

\--

They don’t ever talk about Akaashi again. Bokuto does tell Kuroo about their run in and Kuroo kind of pities his sucky flirting skills like what the hell at least ask for a phone number first and then get to know each other better later on. His friend isn’t really disturbed by Bokuto’s newfound feelings and Bokuto kind of gets why.

He’s never going to see Akaashi again.

This realization dawns on him two weeks later while he’s taking a shower and Oikawa is rapping his knuckles against the door impatiently because Bokuto is taking far too long and he’s going to be late for his date. 

Bokuto couldn’t care less. 

It leaves a void inside of his heart and stomach that no amount of nachos can fill.

\--

It fades into the back of Bokuto’s mind like a three year old summertime romance, a distant beautiful memory, and he carries on with his life that is by no means lonely with Kuroo by his side. The guy is still a loner and doesn’t have his eye set on anyone. Bokuto pegs him as aromantic. His best friend never gets into serious relationships.

Not that he looks like he needs anything like that.

Bokuto would rather stay alone if that means avoiding train wrecks of relationships like the ones Oikawa tends to get involved in. He doesn’t want to think about his current one. 

Sawamura is a different case altogether or so Bokuto finds out one faithful Tuesday afternoon. 

Bokuto barges into the bookstore Sawamura works at, in hopes that the guy will lend him some money. Bokuto’s not asking for that much, only 21500 yen, because he knows that he can put this money to good use and win twice as much. 

Since the beginning of time aka since the formation of their unholy foursome, he and Oikawa have an intense rivalry going on which involves gambling and horse races. Especially horse races since gambling isn’t exactly Bokuto’s main forte and that bastard is too fucking lucky for his own good, resorting to cheating when things don’t go his way though no one’s able to prove it.

More than winning, Bokuto just wants to kick Oikawa’s ass and show him who the boss is. Of course money is always important.

It just so happens that this month Bokuto has nothing to bet on and he just heard from super reliable sources that Oikawa’s favorite horse, a black steed named Starshooter, isn’t in its top shape. A perfect opportunity to wipe that lecherous smirk off Oikawa’s face, don’t you think?

Kuroo had kicked his shin when Bokuto asked for some extra cash and while Sawamura isn’t exactly Bokuto’s plan B or C, or plan Z for that matter, he has no one else to ask. And maybe Sawamura will actually agree to it.

He’s feeling pretty lucky so why the hell not try.

Bokuto patiently waits until Sawamura is done serving a customer, an obviously fake smile plastered on his face because Bokuto is around and that obviously cannot be good. He eyes the gray-haired man suspiciously and before Bokuto can ask him anything, Sawamura barks. “What do you want.”

“Daichi, my friend, my soul bro—”

Sawamura rubs his temples and holds up one hand to shut the other up. “None of that. Just get to the point. What is it?”

Bokuto pouts. Rude. Also too bad for him, Sawamura’s blatantly suspicious. He probably won’t believe a word out of his mouth. “I’m in trouble,” Bokuto says in his most serious voice. He even makes a face to match with his words.

“Uhuh. And you came here, because…?” Daichi stares at him, bored. The look in his eyes makes the other squirm. How does one even converse with someone like that? Sawamura looks like he’s done with everyone’s shit before they even have the chance to say a word.

“Man, you gotta help me. I’m being chased,” Bokuto pleads and looks over one shoulder. It does the trick as Daichi turns slightly wary though his face is a perfect mask of disbelief. 

“By who?”

Bokuto leans in to whisper a rushed. “Yakuza.”

Daichi snorts. “Really. And what did you do? Actually knowing you guys, I have no doubts that it could be real. So yeah, entertain me for a few more minutes, I have a break soon.” He takes a look at his wristwatch and taps his fingertips against the counter. “Well?”

And then Bokuto bullshits a dumb story about owing money to the local gang and that if he doesn’t have it by tomorrow afternoon he’s as good as dead.

“They’ll skewer me with plastic knives, Sawamura,” Bokuto whines. “Tiny plastic knives.”

Sawamura looks less and less entertained, annoyance glimmering in his brown eyes. “What the hell are you on about.”

“That’s a painful death! That’s what I mean!” 

“Have fun in the afterlife. I’ll make sure to identify your dead body if you’re not _too cut up_ ,” he retorts sarcastically and Bokuto knows that his mission had failed. 

“So no money?”

“No.”

“Man, you’re no friend of mine.” With a huff Bokuto crosses his arms over his chest. “Leaving a friend in trouble like that, even Oikawa wouldn’t do that.”

He’s about to berate Sawamura some more but then a handsome young man approaches them shyly. He looks at Bokuto a bit uncertainly which kind of confuses him. The guy has sand coloured hair, big doe-like eyes and a beauty mark under his left eye. He’s dressed nicely and Bokuto would’ve made a move on him if the guy hadn’t turned Sawamura’s way. 

“Uh, sorry to disturb you. Are you busy right now?” He shoots another cautious look Bokuto’s way and the mentioned man leans in closer, curious as to how this will unfold. Is the pretty boy hitting on their hardass Sawamura here? Oh this ought to be good.

Holy shit is Sawamura _actually laughing_? “Ah no no, I was about to see him out. He’s one of my roommates.” Sawamura claps his shoulder harshly in a fake show of friendliness, his eyes shut and a huge grin plastered on his face. “This is Bokuto.” He introduces him, voice terse. 

Bokuto extends one arm in a handshake. He’s never seen their Sawamura act like this before and frankly speaking it _creeps him out_. The pretty boy takes it in his own and lets go almost too fast. “Uh, hi,” Bokuto says in order to break the fifty meter thick ice and shoves his hand back into the pocket of his jacket. 

The guy offers a smile. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Suga.” He introduces himself, cheeks tinted pink and Bokuto almost overhears something vital, while thinking that the guy’s name sounds an awful lot like ‘sugar’ in English. Fitting. “You’re one of Daichi’s friends, right.”

Bokuto’s train of thought crashes, catches fire and explodes, passengers screaming in the background and whatnot. His eyes are wide from surprise and he stares at Suga, completely oblivious to Sawamura’s hateful glare that almost screams ‘don’t you dare to say anything weird’. “‘Daichi’?”

The pretty boy – Suga – seems rather uncomfortable and he looks at the black-haired man for some guidance but Daichi only gives him the same kind of reprimanding look, though this one lacks the hatred. “That’s his name right?” He attempts to laugh it away.

And who the hell was allowed to call Sawamura by his first name. This was too much for Bokuto to wrap his mind around. “No it’s just that he turns absolutely ballistic whenever someone calls him by his first name but okay, I see.”

“He does?” Suga blinks, confused and looks at Daichi for confirmation. The black-haired man rewards Bokuto with an acidic stare for his off-hand remark and Bokuto takes it as a promise for a slow death later tonight.

“Of course not.” Sawamura forces a painful smile, the nerve under his eye twitching ferociously. “Anyways Bokuto, you can _leave now_.”

“Sure thing, _Daichi._ ” He is almost spewing actual acid with those eyes, yet Bokuto grins. Kuroo must be rubbing off on him. Not in the way you would assume though. "I don't want to... disturb you."

Bokuto’s about to leave but not until he clears some things up. He abruptly turns around and Sawamura’s relieved expression pinches again. Bokuto looks Suga’s way. “Oh, by the way, did he by any chance go to your place three days ago? We were looking for him and his friends didn’t know where he went.”

Suga, oblivious angel Suga, who’s never been pushed into any traps or encountered any assholes of this caliber, only smiles innocently and nods his head. “Sorry for the inconvenience,” he says and a positively evil grin graces Bokuto’s face. Even Satan would run away if he saw something like it.

Sawamura is white as a sheet and Bokuto coos. “Busted.”

It makes the man lose what little restrain he has left and he yells loudly, startling the clients. “Get the fucking hell out, asshole!”

Shit’s about to go down if he stays a moment longer because Sawamura isn’t to be messed with. Bokuto wants to hightail out of this bookstore and never show his face here ever again for safety reasons when someone walks up from behind him and an irritated voice demands. “What is going on here?”

Bokuto chokes on air a little, feeling lightheaded. 

He looks over his shoulder and comes face to face with what he assumed to be a lost summertime romance never to be encountered again. Those sappy feelings from weeks ago overwhelm his whole body when he sees those familiar eyes.

Akaashi Keiji stands behind him, hands on hips, his messy hairstyle and annoyed stares still the same as the day they met.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've come back with updates as promised. Bokuto makes a deal with the devil because he's dumb like that. Do not expect any shojo manga romance right away, guys~

It has been proven a lot of times that the universe works in the strangest ways at the most inappropriate moments. Bokuto can definitely vouch for that because he always gets fucked over by the pranks the infinite vacuum space, with billions of flaming gas balls and voids filling it, pulls on his sorry ass every single day. He thinks that life isn’t fair like that: what did he do to deserve this? Why him? Why not some assholes like Kuroo Tetsurou? Sure, Bokuto isn’t a saint but come on, this is just ridiculous.

Will he ever experience the joys of true love? He isn’t sure.

Damn, he’s starting to sound like a cliché Disney movie. Maybe marathoning that stuff with Oikawa was a bad idea to begin with, but he had been feeling rather depressed, and some good old cartoons with a bunch of cheerful songs in them were bound to lift his spirits at least a little.

All was well until they hit some movie Bokuto had never seen before, which was rather weird because he’s been a fan of these particular American classics since he was a toddler, and he had thought that he saw everything Walt Disney had to offer. The movie was kinda stupid, or so Bokuto had thought the first three minutes in. It was about dogs and Oikawa had literally taped his mouth shut – that wasn’t the first time something like this happened - the moment Bokuto started questioning his life choices out loud as the brunet threatened to kick him out all the while. It was supposedly one of Oikawa’s favored movies so he was to stay quiet if he valued his ‘pathetic life’.

Bokuto decided to give it a chance because c’mon, it’s not like he _really_ needed to finish that mountain of papers piled on his desk, and he had to begrudgingly agree with his gambling nemesis – the cartoon was good. It left him feeling mushy as hell.

Some time later Kuroo had strolled inside, singing along to ‘ _Bella Notte_ ’ in the most obnoxious voice, dragging out the first lines of the song like only he could. Right then Bokuto felt that he absolutely had to watch that movie till the very end. Kuroo had seen it before and he even knew the words which was unacceptable. It was like a sharp hit to Bokuto’s pride because he was always the one pissing off his roommies with Disney songs. 

Kuroo needed to sit the fuck down and watch the pros. And sit down he did, right next to Bokuto as the three of them squeezed up on the considerably small sofa, immersed in the sappiest love story American cartoons had to offer.

And like… he totally didn’t get _emotional_ over a stupid Disney classic or anything.

Oikawa was swooning at the toe-curling romance while Bokuto tried not to think too much about the fact that all of them were witnessing a love story between dogs, _hell_ , love stories between dogs are not supposed to give you _feelings_ of any sort, and Kuroo was calling bullshit on the 'spaghetti thing'. Everything would have been alright if it wasn’t for one tiny flaw that ruined his watching experience…

Bokuto was thinking about Akaashi.

“Aw come on, you can work it out,” he muttered and wrapped himself tighter in his blanket, leaning in slightly. “Who cares if you’re of higher social standing? You love him!”

Kuroo lifted the corner of his blanket and took a peek at Bokuto’s scrunched up face, a bit confused by the sight he had been greeted by. A few seconds later his eyebrows slanted into a frown. “Dude, are you feeling alright?”

“Y-yeah?”

“Are you _seriously_ getting emotional here?”

That piqued Oikawa’s attention. Damn it. “Eh? What’s this?” the asshole grinned slyly. “Feel like you can relate, Bokuto-kun?”

He didn’t get a chance to answer because right then Sawamura barged inside and froze in the doorway. The trio looked up so fast they almost got whiplash, expressions guilty, more akin to those of children caught with their hands stuffed in a cookie jar. Except the proverbial ‘cookie jar’ was grade A blackmail material. That is if Sawamura had been as bad as them. Huh, maybe he could be considered the saint among them.

Sawamura stared, they stared back and eventually the black-haired man sighed as he ran his fingers through his short hair. “I can’t believe I’m sharing an apartment with a bunch of six year old girls.”

“Hey man, are you dissing Disney?” Kuroo was the first one to speak up. A shit-eating grin stretched his lips. “Do you want to start something here?”

Bokuto heard Oikawa darkly mutter ‘can’t watch a single movie in peace’ as he turned the volume up a little louder at the same time Sawamura replied. “Depends on the movie.”

“Lady and the Tramp. You game?”

Immediately Sawamura’s pinched expression smoothed out. Bokuto’s eyes widened as he noticed their dictator _relax_. “Oh. Well in that case, scoot over. Movie night.”

Oikawa groaned.

-

Now you’re probably wondering what the hell had happened during this wisely placed timeskip. In other words, what sort of ungodly drama had occurred between the handsome hero and his adorable angel-like love interest. 

Well.

Their first meeting after weeks of absolutely nothing, weeks of thinking that maybe it was best to give up on foolish daydreams and move on? Another bad prank by the universe. Damn you, universe. If it somehow materialized itself, became something tangible, then Bokuto Koutarou would be the first one in line to kick its sorry ass.

Akaashi had been so bored by his presence that Bokuto had barely restrained himself from curling up on the floor and staying in that same position, sulking until the closing hours when he would’ve been carried out by one of the workers.

One thing’s for sure: their meeting was no mere coincidence. If Bokuto had ever bothered to ask Sawamura about the name of his workplace or had at least visited the bookstore that same guy works at, the name ‘Natsukawa books’ would’ve struck a chord, a memory, in his otherwise empty head. 

Sure, Akaashi had been a bit shocked to see his face, he was sure of that. Bokuto had noticed the way his black eyes lost their heavy-lidded look, his lips parted as if to ask how the hell he had found him. Or maybe question Bokuto’s entire existence and write him off as a creepy ass stalker, and, to be completely honest, he really did deserve that title, but instead Akaashi merely frowned and straightened up. “Can you keep it down? You’re causing havoc.”

Bokuto gaped, Sawamura heatedly apologized and promised that it won’t ever happen again _it’s just that his dense roommate is hyperactive and unaware of social norms_ while Suga entertained himself by reading one of the many brochures placed on the table. He too, was obviously uncomfortable with this situation. Bokuto was certain that the sandy-haired beauty wouldn’t ever talk to him again and avoid him like fire. 

“I, uh—” Bokuto had stuttered out, cheeks ablaze.

Weeks of weird dreams, weeks of longing, and when the grand moment came – Bokuto dully noted that for the first time he kicked the universe’s ass by proving it wrong, middle fingers pointed towards the sky – he had nothing intelligent to say.

That thought alone caused him to have a minor breakdown and prolonged his silence. Since when did he care about saying intelligent things? This was just another guy that he had to have, right? Why couldn’t he pull his usual ‘smooth guy looking for some fun tonight’ card?

Akaashi was obviously a player that he would never be able to read. He would’t get a chance to crack that pokerface and see what made the guy tick.

Because right after scolding them and accepting Sawamura’s exaggerated apologies he turned around, shot Bokuto one analyzing stare - over his shoulder too, probably to show him just how _uninterested_ he was – and left. Sawamura groaned and silently hissed - as to not alarm his gentle boyfriend - that Bokuto should really get a move on because he didn’t want to get into even more trouble with his _boss’ son_.

Oh.

Feelings hurt, mood plummeting down, Bokuto had taken Sawamura’s bossy advice and left, looking around, just in case he spotted Akaashi, but the black-haired beauty was long gone. For the first time in a long while Bokuto hated the sounds of city around him, the hum of engines and the chatter bringing back unpleasant memories of the last time he had felt like this. The feeling of heartbreak and shitty romances that weren’t meant to work out always weighed him down, and the fact that this had befallen him once again made him feel even more depressed.

He figured that he would slowly but surely mend this and get Akaashi to at least acknowledge him and his efforts. And he knew the right – wrong – person to go to first.

-

Oikawa had been listening to his endless playlist of godawful pop songs while texting at least three hundred people at once, or so Bokuto had thought until he took a peek over the brunet’s shoulder and saw something that made him want to bleach his eyes out. Huh, who would’ve thought that Oikawa had such skill when it came to sexting?

Another reason why he decided to swallow his already bruised pride and ask him for some information that could be vital.

“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal,” Bokuto chirped to announce his presence. Oikawa jumped forward, startled.

“Who cares? It’s not like he knows what I’m actually doing.” The brunet shrugged and wrapped his finger around the pink string of gum he had been chewing. Gross. “Didn’t anyone teach you that it’s rude to look at someone’s texts? What are you, a bird?”

“Whatever.” Bokuto huffed and settled on the sofa. “Can you turn that shit down? I can’t hear myself.”

Oikawa feigned that he was considering it for a moment and blew out a huge bubble of gum to piss off the owl even more. “Hmm, let me think. No, no, and _no_. Choose the one that appeals to you the most,” he muttered around the bubble and Bokuto popped it with his finger, the nerve under his eye twitching dangerously. He hated dealing with the handsome man; his attitude definitely didn’t match his looks. 

“Ew! What do you think you’re doing?” Oikawa spat out the gum immediately, his face scrunched up as he barked, offended. “Don’t get your germs all over my food, dickbag.”

“Are you gonna bitch or actually listen to what I have to say?”

“Last time I checked I didn’t give two shits about what you had to say, Bokuto-kun, so why should I start doing so now?”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

“I’d say ‘fuck you’ but you already have that covered, don’t you?”

“You wish you had a piece of this. What happened, Iwaizumi keeps cockblocking you?” Bokuto sneered and pointed at the phone held loosely in the brunet’s hand. The name that the screen displayed was most definitely not Iwaizumi’s. “Can’t get over last time?”

He knew that he was being an asshole and Oikawa saw that he was acting like as total dick just to get it out of his system, his ‘dejected mood’ placed under the lights.

The subject of Oikawa’s current ‘official’ boyfriend – god knew how many affairs this kid had – was a forbidden topic. It was Oikawa’s sore spot even, because after that mentioned event Sawamura had forbade him from bringing someone into their no longer bachelor-only flat. 

When _it_ happened, ‘Sawamura the Hardass’ had been absent, as always. He hadn’t entertained the idea of staying with three of his roommates in the same room for longer than it was absolutely necessary. Daichi had another family dinner he needed to attend to, or so he had said, and the trio had no reason to doubt him because those events usually required him to wear ‘appropriate’ get-up. This time he even wore a black suit.

You see, at the time Sawamura’s grandmother had passed away and his mother had been very broken up about it, requesting to spend as much time as possible with her children because she didn’t do it with her own mother and now it had been far too late. Plus she was getting older and eventually her sons would inevitably have to go through the same thing. 

Sawamura had let it slip that his mother’s psychosis was getting rather bothersome and out of hand but he still had to play the ‘respectable son’ role thus he never made any excuses to skip out on the family dinners, only when he was truly busy, only _occasionally_ sacrificing the stuffy environment in order to spend his evening with his sweetheart boyfriend, or so Bokuto had found out _way later_ \- that day at the bookstore - but right now that’s beside the point.

Oikawa had only recently gotten together with his current boyfriend and you know how freshly-baked and passionate relationships go. The couple had managed to piss off Buddha-earlobed old lady who obviously had absolutely nothing better to do with her life than to peek through the peephole and silently judge two college students making out against the door of their apartment, cursing them not so silently. Iwaizumi would get annoyed and flip her off while Oikawa pulled him even closer and wrapped his long legs around his boyfriend’s mid-section.

The ancient lady was the bane of their existence, calling police more often than not. The two policemen that were always sent out never truly bothered with them and only rolled their eyes whenever Sawamura questioned if it was ‘her again’, giving their affirmatives.

“Just… I don’t know, do it inside next time,” the policeman had said once and slapped his palm against his wrinkled forehead, mentally cursing his job. “We are tired from these constant calls that list you as ‘sexual deviants and offenders of humanity’.”

They all had a ‘family meeting’ that night and set some house rules. Rule number one was the most important and still stood firm like a pact of steel: no people inside this household unless you’re serious about them. 

Rule number two: no making out against the front door, Oikawa, keep it in your pants, and no, I do not care if it’s _fun_ pissing her off, or that you may or may not have a thing for getting off in public places, _jeez_.

So that had left Oikawa and Iwaizumi with only one choice. Taking their affairs _inside_.

An unwise decision, especially if you’re thinking about going all out with suppressed passion and whatnot. 

The second rule had been altered by the pissed dictator: _no making out at all_ , go outside, look at the sky, touch the grass, smell a leaf, enjoy _nature_ but no ‘dicking around’ within five hundred meter radius of the building.

Sawamura’s deceased grandmother had left her oldest grandchild something very precious to their family – an old porcelain tea set, which, in Bokuto’s eyes, could’ve been pawned the moment Sawamura actually received it but then he saw Kuroo’s fingers blooming a deep shade of purple after he had been caught trying to do the same thing. The guy told Sawamura that he didn’t need it, and come on - he’s not ‘the girl of the family’, which was, by the way, cursed with guys alone, thus he shouldn’t be having that set to begin with.

Sawamura had shot back that it was still his duty to take care of it, as useless as it was, because the only beverages they ever drank came in forms of bottles and cans. Plus the set had been passed down their family from mother to daughter for over five generations and he had _no idea_ why his grandmother didn’t give it to _his mom_.

Damn, Sawamura’s mom was weird.

And it just so happened that while Sawamura glared at everyone who dared to get too close to the cabinet it had been carefully placed on, Oikawa had completely forgotten of its existence as his back hit the said cabinet just a little too hard and it started raining porcelain. Gladly neither he nor Iwaizumi were injured. 

The brunet hyperventilated and considered packing his stuff and moving in with Iwaizumi before Sawamura returned. Of course that offer had been mercilessly rejected – they haven’t been together for _that long_ and anyone who’s ever spent prolonged time with Oikawa Tooru would never even consider the idea of _living_ with him – so in the end they tried to calm down and fix the damage somehow.

Bokuto and Kuroo had returned an hour later and the four of them had covered at least 1/3rd of the floor in fast drying super glue in their attempts to fix the Sawamura family relics. 

They hadn’t succeeded and Oikawa was conveniently left alone to face Sawamura’s rage when the man returned, his mood shittier than usual and his suit a little ruffled.

Bokuto would finish this story with ‘and we never saw Oikawa again’, but they did and they still keep seeing him _daily_ , and it kinda sucks that they didn’t get rid of the guy once and for all. Sawamura had only revoked more than half of his privileges and he was stuck cleaning the apartment for the next three months.

Then again, if, for example, they really did kick him out and were to leave the door unlocked, the menace would sneak back inside. That’s an undeniable fact.

Sawamura wasn’t that upset over some stupid tea set that served absolutely no purpose, other than gathering dust.

This brings us to the day the rivals somehow got over their differences. “It would be terrible if someone told Iwaizumi about this.”

Oikawa squinted his eyes and hissed. “You wouldn’t.”

“You wanna test that statement out?”

The duo glared daggers at each other, suspicious. After a while Oikawa relented as he sunk into the decorative pillows conveniently placed nearby and stuck out his lower lip in a childish pout, blatantly unhappy that he would have to hear his nemesis out. “Okay fine, I grant you the permission to address me, peasant. What’s got your panties in a twist on this fine day?”

Bokuto placed his elbows on his thighs as he contemplated the best way to start his speech. No matter what he said he’d still end up in deep shit. Oikawa would surely hold this against him for the rest of the eternity. “Hey, Oikawa, you read, right?”

The brunet raised one perfectly arched eyebrow at that. “Bokuto-kun, I think more than half of Japan’s population does that, or at least knows how to do it. I’m greatly upset that you do not fall into that category.”

Bokuto huffed, offended. “Why does everyone in this household assume that I don’t know how to read?” For a moment he thought back to Kuroo’s smirking face. It fueled his anger even more and made him want to punch someone. Specifically: one annoying ass brunet.

“Well you’re the only person in this household who sets flammable things on fire when we specifically tell you not to. Those have instructions on them. You’re supposed to read them. So where’s the catch?”

“Have you ever read Natsukawa’s works? If so, do you have them? Can I borrow them?” Bokuto rambled on while trying to appear emotionless, thoroughly failing his task, as his companion crossed his legs, seemingly lost deep in thought. 

Now one may assume that someone like Oikawa wasn’t interested in books and probably stuck with something that’s all about gossip alone, and one isn’t completely wrong if they reached that kind of conclusion, but the guy had the biggest stack of books Bokuto’s ever seen in his life. The shelves in his room were filled with stacks of novels and thick tomes that made Koutarou’s head spin, books of all kinds of genres varying from simple romance to deep psychological and sometimes downright disturbing, to dictionaries and Oikawa’s boring books that he needed to study until he could recite them, before signing up for social experiments his college held.

“Of course I read them,” Oikawa said and brushed his knuckles over the tip of his nose, still thinking. “I love his works, but I don’t think that I should involve myself into discussions about them, especially if you want to read them, which is… unusual? Unexpected?” He shot an alarmed glance Bokuto’s way as if hoping for him to jump up and yell ‘ _psyched! Did you actually buy that, loser?_ ’, however, when none of that happened he continued. “I don’t have them with me. Go to the library or something?”

Bokuto’s slowly brightening mood clouded once again. “Shit.”

“Right right, they kicked you out?”

“More than once.”

“Bummer,” Oikawa muttered, not sounding sorry for his roommate at all. “I could get them for you if you want.” He smirked in that unnerving way and Bokuto immediately knew that there was a catch.

“What do you want in return, asshole?”

“Watch your language, Bokuto-kun, or I might change my mind,” he chirped brightly as his eyes lidded and his smirk turned self-satisfying. The annoyance obviously knew that he held this situation in his manicured claws and he could do whatever he pleased. What a big bag of dicks. 

“You do my chores for the next month and we have a deal. Try to negotiate over the time period and you’re on your own.” Oikawa cackled gleefully, enjoying his suffering and loving the idea of lazying around when it was his turn to take care of their apartment. For a few fleeting moments Bokuto considered taking one of the tiny pillows and smothering him. Or wringing his pale thin neck. He was pretty sure that Iwaizumi wouldn’t try to hunt him down and get revenge. He’d probably thank him for setting him free, too.

“You’re a horrible person,” was all that he had said as he rose up, ready to return to his room and sulk. His day kept on getting worse and worse.

“I know. It’s a thought that lets me sleep so soundly at night,” Oikawa replied and went back to texting.

"I hate you."

"I love me too."

Bokuto flipped him off and slammed the door shut, drowning out the sounds of Nicki Minaj and Oikawa's ear-grating snickering.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can this be considered a double update? It totally can! I know, I know this chap might end a bit... melancholic, but it's a clarification. It's a start of something new. That's all that matters. Kurokens for Jack because she's doing such a great job (they're jackema material //coughs)

When Kuroo comes back from his ‘secret job’ that day, Bokuto drapes himself over the black-haired man’s lap the moment he dumps his bags by the desk and settles down on his bed.

“Why are you in my room?” Kuroo rolls his eyes, yet he still pets Bokuto’s hair affectionately, which he never does because the feeling of hair gel makes him shudder. The fact that Bokuto’s hair is down is _definitely_ a bad sign. 

“Mffrmhhm,” the silver-haired man responds, words muffled by the fabric of Kuroo’s dark blue jeans.

“Uh-huh, I see.” Kuroo simply clicks his tongue and pinches the other’s earlobe, letting his blunt nails sink into the flesh. He succeeds in extracting a familiar reaction as Bokuto yelps and lifts his head from Kuroo’s lap, rubbing the sore spot with his fingertips. 

“What was that for!?” he whines, unhappy. Kuroo immediately notices that it’s not the usual tone that the other uses just for the sake of sounding like a disgruntled five year old. This one’s the real deal. _Woo-fucking-hoo_ , he comes back tired and he’s greeted by the ‘dejected mode’. “For not learning how to speak like a normal person. What happened? Professor scolded you for skipping again?”

“No… Yes,” Bokuto grumbles and flips over so that he’s facing his best friend, arms folded over his chest. “But that’s beside the point.”

“Oikawa’s being mean to you again?” Kuroo makes a shot in the dark. Bokuto’s eyebrows twitch again. So he’s right. “Nicki Minaj is like his victory music.”

“He’s a drama queen of dicks.” Bokuto growls, annoyed.

“You’re one too.”

“Yeah but he’s a bigger _dick_.”

“Dude, I’m not about to get into an argument about dick sizes with you,” Kuroo says plainly, hoping to snuff out Bokuto's impending heated bitch fit and end this stupid argument. It works but in a way that he did not expect. It’s not completely unwelcome though.

“We weren’t talking ‘bout dick sizes, tho.” Bokuto lifts himself up and slides his arms around the other’s stiff shoulders, putting all of his weight on Kuroo, pushing him back against the bed. His lecherous grin is bright and a tad mischievous as Kuroo struggles to keep himself upright by bracing his palms against the bedding at the same time Bokuto pushes down. 

“Of course _you’d know_ that _I’m_ bigger, huh.” He waggles his eyebrows, enjoying the sight of bright pink blending on the skin of Kuroo’s cheekbones as the black-haired man finally relaxes his muscles and they fall on the bed together with a dull ‘fwump’. Kuroo smacks the side of his ribcage as Bokuto tries to cuddle him.

“Yeah you’re _definitely_ the bigger dick— _ow_ , get off, fatass!” Kuroo tries to pull him away by taking hold of the back of his hoodie and yanking it. “You’re gonna break me!”

“I’m not fat.” Bokuto sticks his lower lip out and braces himself up on his forearms, giving Kuroo some space. He still needs to feel his best friend close; it’s his only consolation after his terrible day. 

“You are,” The black-haired man responds and pinches Bokuto’s thigh. “This was muscle six months ago, now it’s all _fat_.”

“It’s not.” What the hell, he’s sexy and he knows it. Kuroo’s dumb, his deduction skills are actual _shit_ and he’s in a desperate need of glasses if he cannot appreciate his _hot body_.

“Look at your buns wiggle.” Bokuto’s abruptly pulled out of his thoughts as he jumps up, slightly startled when Kuroo’s palm playfully smacks against the side of his ass. Huh. Maybe they really do wiggle. “They do not!” he counters just for the hell of it.

“Don’t you go on defensive, you know it’s true.” Kuroo winks and Bokuto presses one palm against that stupid grin to shut him up. Kuroo sticks his tongue out and licks it. That action makes Bokuto let go immediately, a deep frown marring his face. “That’s so gross and unhygienic. You don’t just _lick_ people.”

“What was I supposed to do, suffocate?” Kuroo frowns and looks aside. “Unhygienic. Says the guy who came from this same tongue sliding down the length of his dick.”

They get into a minor slap fight. Life is a bit better with Kuroo by his side, patient and supportive.

-

After a while, when their cheeks are sore and red and they’re short on breath, they lay down, sides pressed flush as Bokuto looks up at the ceiling of Kuroo’s room, contemplative. “I met him again.”

It’s quiet for a while. Bokuto can’t see his friend’s eyes because his arm is draped over them, successfully cockblocking his attempts to get at least a small peek. Kuroo’s voice is lacking emotion when he speaks up. “That Akaashi kid?”

It’s during moments like these that Bokuto is glad he and Kuroo have known each other for years. They no longer need to communicate with words to understand what the other means, yet the thought that his best-friend-turned-fuck-buddy still remembers the name of some random guy Bokuto had mentioned weeks ago is strange. It’s slightly unsettling in a way that Bokuto cannot explain.

“How’d that happen? There are over thirteen million people in Tokyo Metropolis and you walked into some guy you thought you’d never see again. What are the chances of that happening?”

“I know right. He’s… been under my nose this whole time actually.” Bokuto feels a mirthless smile stretch his face when he remembers Akaashi’s cool gaze and the way he had been brushed off like he was nothing more than a random stranger. The stranger thing made sense, but still. Bokuto wants to pretend that Akaashi too had felt that _spark_ ignite when they talked all those weeks ago.

Now Kuroo seems honestly interested as he pulls his arm away and looks at his best friend. Bokuto really wants to kiss him. He looks kinda cute when he’s confused like that, his brown eyes widening a little. “Really now. Colour me curious and spill the beans, pal.”

And so he does. He tells Kuroo everything from his run in with Daichi in order to borrow some money – ‘oh that explains a lot’ Kuroo says as he looks in the direction of his door. ‘Oikawa’s been boasting that you didn’t bet this time and he’s bound to get rich and I quote ‘leave all of us, mean _jerks_ , behind.’ Tells him about Suga as Kuroo’s smirk grows and he says that it’s the best blackmail material he’s ever gotten against Sawamura. Tells him about Akaashi and their unfortunate meeting.

“Damn, man, that sucks big time.” Unlike Oikawa, Kuroo actually sounds like he means those words as he apologetically pats Bokuto’s shoulder a few times. “I don’t know, if you ask me, he seems like one of those snobby rich boys who get their daddies to buy shit for them.” Kuroo’s nose crinkles with disgust as he berates Bokuto’s crush until the other punches his arm.

“Quit talking shit, man. He’s not like that.” He feels a sudden urge to defend his crush. But who knows, maybe Kuroo is right. Fifteen minutes of talking to someone is not enough to crack their personality.

His best friend seems to think the same. “He brushed you off like you weren’t there.”

“Maybe I’m not his type.”

Kuroo props his head against his palm and turns Bokuto’s way. With his free hand he squishes his friend's cheeks until the other looks like a blobfish and turns his face just enough so they’re facing each other properly, brown eyes meeting amber. “That’s bullshit and you know it. You’re _everyone’s_ type, man.”

For the first time in his life Bokuto feels his heart tremble at Kuroo’s words, his friend’s expression dead serious and determined. He doesn’t have the time to ponder if maybe he’s finally falling in love with his best friend – and man would he _like_ that. “Really? You mean it?”

“Of course. I mean, you’re fucking annoying as hell and you’re kinda stupid but look on the bright side – you’re good in bed?”

“What’s with the question mark!?”

“Shut up. What I’m saying is that you shouldn’t beat yourself over some _daddy’s boy_. I’ll prove to you that you’re everyone’s type. And if you’re not, well, I’ll still love your fat ass.” Kuroo pinches his cheek and tugs on the pink skin. “Is that okay, muffin?” His grin is so bright that it’s almost blinding.

Bokuto snickers as he gently slaps the offending limbs away. “Of course, sweetie pie, your love’s all I need.” He winks and pinches Kuroo’s cheeks in return and then squeezes them as he feels his own face colouring slightly.

They laugh at it.

Kuroo never finds out that Bokuto truly means those words.

-

Well it’s widely known that Bokuto and Kuroo do not put their studies before everything else so in the end they decide to have a wild night out. It’s Friday anyways so who the hell even _cares_. 

“Go get changed, my boy,” Kuroo orders and extends his arm for Bokuto to grab hold of in order to lift himself up. He smacks it away and Kuroo grins. “Fix up your hair and be fab. We’re goin' clubbing.”

“Wait, right now?”

“No, _tomorrow_ , genius. Of course now! Go get ready.” Kuroo kicks his ass, successfully shoving him outside.

And as Bokuto spends his usual thirty minutes in front of the mirror gluing his hair and making sure that not a single strand is out place, he thinks that maybe this is what he really needs. He doesn’t want to pick up a date or anything of the sort, his plans for later tonight mostly consist of dragging himself and Kuroo back to their flat and fucking his best friend senseless, but some booze is bound to do him good. He already devoured half of Sawamura’s secret beer supplies. Hah, what a joke. 

Really, that cabinet is by no means a good place to hide your shit.

He checks himself out in the mirror once he’s done. Now it’s obvious that Bokuto’s in love with himself and thinks that he’s perfection materialized, but every now and then he still needs reassurance. Not much of course, just a compliment here and there. Daily. Like every four hours if we want to exaggerate that statement.

He pats his stomach a few times. He’s so unlike Kuroo, that guy’s all lean and firm muscle but Bokuto’s not exactly thick either. Still, he admits that Kuroo’s right, even if it hurts him to do so. He’s getting a bit thicker in the middle section.

Bokuto steels his resolve and promises himself that starting Monday he’s gonna hit the gym. He’ll do it for the man. 

-

The bass thrums so loudly that his whole _being_ shakes and he leans heavily against Kuroo’s side, eyelids drooping slightly. He’s tired and upset and damn, that sadness which grips his heart with steel-like claws won’t subside no matter what. At least one of them is having fun. 

“You could go talk to him,” Kuroo beckons after Bokuto shoots down yet another offer to dance. The guy’s not exactly his type anyways plus he seems like a little bitch, if the glare he received when he rejected him is anything to go by. Seriously, who the hell allows minors into this club? “And quit drinking, I ain’t dragging your fat ass home!” Kuroo shouts into his ear over the bass and Bokuto pushes his face away, glaring.

“Fuck you, asshole. I ain’t fat.”

“Sure.”

“I’m gonna hit the gym to get back in shape and then you will be _begging_ to touch these guns.” Bokuto blinks, unfocused as the booze he had consumed makes his head spin and he flexes. Kuroo grins and his mouth moves, saying words that he can’t quite hear over the sound. He’s probably complimenting him, yeah.

“You sound like Oikawa.” Kuroo pulls him closer by his elbow. “Why don’t you start trading beauty secrets?”

The light from the bar shines in a perfect angle and Bokuto lets his eyes roam his best friend’s handsome face unabashedly. His heart beats faster for the second time that night and he lets his gaze flicker to those lips pulled in their usual cocky smirk. Absolutely _disgusting_. “Nah man, I’ll work it off. Pick up some sexy ladies while I’m at it,” he adds in order to gauge the other’s reaction.

Kuroo stares dumbfounded as his brown eyes reflect bright blues and flickering greens, making him ten times more attractive, which should be _illegal_. Bokuto kinda regrets his decision to not apply for the police academy. He’d make sure that he’d be assigned to Kuroo’s case, and then he’d chase the black-haired guy around, maybe corner him in a dark desolate alley and… Oh wow that’s kinda kinky. Bokuto never knew that he had it in him.

His friend lets out a loud cackle. That annoying laughter can’t be drowned out by music no matter how loud it may be. “Dude, you’re gayer than Lev tap-dancing to Russia’s anthem at a gay parade held on a rainbow.”

Well, when he puts it that way. “Shit, son, you got me.” Bokuto holds his arms up in a show of surrender. Kuroo playfully nudges him in the ribs. “Though nice comparison. You could be a writer with that.” He finishes his sentence, a tad solemn, and Kuroo notices the danger flags flashing in the distance. He slides in even closer and drops his voice into a sultry whisper. “Wanna dance?”

“’kay,” Bokuto hums, ignoring the nagging thought that this suggestion is a means to distract him and they dive into the crowd of grinding bodies.

-

It’s the dumbest decision Bokuto’s made in a while and that’s a shocker in itself because he tends to make those daily. The last time he made _actual wise decisions_ was when he was ten years old at most. After that he just kinda said ‘fuck it’ and went with the flow. The universe slapped those words back to his face multiple times but whatever. He's Bokuto Koutarou. He's allowed to be reckless, heck, reckless is like his middle name.

Kuroo didn’t fail to make him all hot and bothered but the bass split his head open like a well aimed hammer and, before he knew it, he had to drag his pal away to the bathroom.

“’m just gonna… go throw up now,” he mumbles around his palm that’s pressed against his mouth and runs to the nearest stall. 

In the end he doesn’t throw up to the point of passing out and his nausea dies down a little. Bokuto heaves, back pressed against the wall and wonders if Kuroo’s actually waiting for him. Usually, he would be asking if Bokuto's feeling alright and this sudden lack of worry is slightly unsettling.

When Bokuto slowly slinks outside, blinking wildly when the neon blue fluorescent lights infiltrate under his eyelids and he hisses like a hermit that’s stepped into the sunlight for the first time in a decade, he sees his best friend staring at the huge mirror, jaw slack as the most ridiculous blush dyes his face. It’s so bad that Bokuto notices it even in this dim lighting - to be honest it looks more purple than red – but Kuroo’s not looking at himself like he had just realized that he was a gift from gods above, rather he’s staring at some lanky kid standing before one of the sinks, washing his hands. He seems a bit unsettled by Kuroo’s weird staring and he keeps shooting nervous glances at the mirror’s surface, probably hoping for the tall looming pervert to avert his starstruck gaze.

The kid’s short, probably one of those minors with fake IDs because he looks no older than seventeen. His eyes are big and catlike and his hair would make Oikawa cringe and possibly send him to cardiac arrest, dark roots growing out, giving off the impression of a pudding.

Bokuto feels sick all over again as he drags Kuroo away. His best friend keeps looking over his shoulder and the pudding boy sends a thankful look Bokuto’s way.

“Shit,” Kuroo sighs and Bokuto realizes that he needs at least three more shots of cranberry vodka before he tries to wrap his mind around the fact that his friend is not, in fact, ‘aro’.

-

Pudding boy comes back fifteen minutes later and by some sort of weird coincidence he ends up sitting not too far away from them. Kuroo’s face flushes again.

“Go hit on him.”

“No.”

“Do it.” Bokuto nudges him with his elbow. His fingers are trembling a bit. 

“I can’t,” Kuroo repeats himself firmly.

Bokuto has never pegged his friend as the reluctant shy type and kicks his shin, causing the other to hiss. “If you won’t, then I will,” he slurs and takes a sip of _nth_ drink that night. His stomach lurches dangerously but he doesn’t care, mind buzzing.

It’s whatever, just… _whatever_.

In the end Bokuto bullies him into talking to the kid and he stares intently as Kuroo tugs down the collar of his shirt nervously, eyes darting around and he takes in a deep breath and finally, finally, awkwardly struts the pudding haired kid’s way, his legs stiff.

Whatever he says, it ends up in a catastrophe because the kid is staring at him, obviously bemused as Kuroo stutters out an awkward ‘ _h-h-h-hi_ ’ and once the flush coats the back of his neck Bokuto takes it as his cue to ungracefully get up from the barstool he had been perching on and drag his friend away before he manages to embarrass himself even further.

-

 

Once they get back home they go at it immediately. Bokuto’s not sure from which depths of his personality this possessiveness has surfaced from but he doesn’t care. Oikawa’s holed up in his room and Sawamura’s absent. It suddenly dawns on Bokuto that even the guy who he had always thought would belong to the ‘Virgin Club’ for the rest of his life, seemed to have quit it and was now probably cuddling his sweet boyfriend. Even Sawamura beat him at this game that went by the name love.

Damn, he feels like _shit_.

Bokuto’s a fucking asshole and he treats Kuroo roughly because why the fuck not, the guy _obviously_ likes it. He’s obnoxiously loud and it takes like ten minutes for Oikawa to get pissed at them as Kuroo moans, unashamedly. Maybe pissing off Oikawa is in his plans as well. Bokuto isn’t sure.

Bokuto presses his palm on the back of the black-haired man’s right knee roughly till it’s almost touching his chest, as he vaguely notices that Kuroo’s ridiculously bendy like that. He never notices things about Kuroo, Bokuto thinks that he doesn’t _need to_ notice them because he figures that he already knows _everything_ there is to know about the bruise on the tomato that is his heart, which goes by the name Kuroo Tetsurou.

He doesn’t know _shit_ and that knowledge angers him _endlessly_.

“ _A-ah_ , fuck, move already!” the guy orders him around like he tends to every single night they’re stuck doing this. Sometimes it’s hot. Now, it just pisses Bokuto off. 

Frankly speaking, Oikawa is even more pissed than either of them as the they hear something big and solid collide with the locked door. Sounded like a boot. “Oh my fucking _god_ , will you two shut up!?” the brunet bellows from his room. At least he didn’t drag his ass all the way to Bokuto’s room. “I need my goddamn sleep and it’s like 2 am, do you want another visit from the cops!?”

“Keep shouting, fucker, I wonder who’ll get targeted this time,” Kuroo shouts back, startling Bokuto. His teeth are bared and he’s frowning slightly. “Fuck off, nobody cares. If it bothers you that much then go stay at your boyfriend’s place! If you don’t leave within ten minutes I’m coming out there and planting my foot up your useless ass _or so help me_.” 

Bokuto stares at his friend in wonder. For Kuroo to lose his cool like that is unheard of. Maybe he has severely miscalculated. Maybe Kuroo is the one who has the crappiest night so far.

“Better a foot than an owl dick!” Oikawa sasses him, yet after a while he relents. He too has probably noticed the dangerous shift in Kuroo’s mood.

“That was fucking hot,” Bokuto only manages to croak out and Kuroo pulls him in for a kiss to shut him up.

-

Next morning’s a bit awkward between them. They’re slowly getting dressed, Bokuto flinching with every move he makes. He’s hungover as fuck, yet Kuroo seems unaffected.

“I think…” he speaks up in a raspy voice after a while and clears his throat. His hair is sticking out in weird angles and Bokuto realizes that he probably likes Kuroo’s sex hair even more than his usual bedhead. “That you should go for that Akaashi kid. Really.”

It sounds like he’s reassuring himself rather than Bokuto.

“You’re still okay with us doing this?” the silver-haired man questions and closes his eyes when a particularly sharp throb hits his temples. To be honest he wants to bail, drink at least three bottles of aspirin and sleep for the rest of the day.

Kuroo looks at him with wide eyes that betray absolutely no emotions. It’s unnerving to say the least, “I’m fine. We’ll stop when you want to.” His best friend averts his gaze.

It kinda hurts to say this out-loud but they need to clear it up. They’re 'friends with benefits' and last time Bokuto had checked ‘falling in love’ didn’t fall into that description. After last night Bokuto is certain that he can _forget_ about having a relationship with Kuroo and deep down he feels that Kuroo knows this too. They’re only friends who like to fool around. They’re two people with separate interests who seek each other out when they need to blow off some steam.

That’s all they’ll ever be and they both know it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello~ after 51456165 years I am back with my last update for the next... 5 months, i think. That's right, kiddos, I'm going on a long hiatus. This is my last year of high school and the workload is insane (plus I have exams coming up) so I have little to no time to write anything at all. So I thought that I should just give up. I always need to keep up the good quality, can't really bullshit my way through most of the stories. Anyways, thanks for reading and enjoying my crap and I hope to see y'all soon? I'm not saying that there's no possibility of me updating before that but it's rather slim...

It’s a bit hard for Bokuto to let go of something he likes or at least enjoys. Though these peculiar occurrences are few and far in between, and if they do come to pass it’s mostly because he gets bored of reaching for the unattainable. Usually, Bokuto is simply pumped up to be the very best – _like no one ever waaas_ , Kuroo often singsongs whenever he feels that unexplainable urge to make an utter ass out of himself by making fun of Bokuto’s _Hopes and Dreams_ , which include stealing his friends’ food, owning Oikawa‘s sorry ass at DDR and, as of late, trying to woo one uninterested fellow who goes by the name Akaashi Keiji.

It’s a tragedy for the three of his roommates to witness.

“Are you reading?” Kuroo keeps asking because really, Bokuto nerding out is one of the top three things that spook him out the most, others being spiders and those creepy toys that croak out eerie ‘I love you’s and gaze at you with dead soulless eyes. He swears that he had a nightmare or two where Bokuto had moved out of their bachelor flat for the sake of ‘helping uncultured swine discover the meaning and beauty of quantum physics’. It would’ve been less horrifying if Bokuto hadn’t been wearing those nerdy glasses that nerd stereotypes wear in Western movies and a tweed suit to top it all. “Seriously, who are you and what did you do to Bokuto? Speak to me, bro! Are you still in there!?”

That is the part where Kuroo usually dives in and attempts to squish his best friend’s cheeks and tear his gaze away from that Natsukawa’s books – c’mon it’s a Friday and they’re supposed to go to a strip club or wreck havoc on the streets of Tokyo – yet Bokuto slaps his prying fingers away and doesn’t bother paying attention to him. Instead he licks his thumb – Kuroo shivers with horror, it’s like his worst nightmare coming true, not the slow flick of the guy’s tongue though, that one taken out of context is pretty good – and simply flips to a new page.

“Bokuto’s gone, leave a message after a beep.” He makes a quiet beeping sound.

Kuroo flicks his forehead in return. “O ha ha, professor. It is I, your best pal, your compadre, the apple of your sleep deprived eye. I am here to tell you that we had a deal to go bar hopping tonight and _you ain’t keeping your part of the bargain, nerd_!” The black-haired man shakes him, frustrated. He’s almost ready to whine his bro-time out of Bokuto. “Leave your nerd stuff alone for like one minute, Hiroki won’t get maimed in the mean time.”

Bokuto snaps the book shut (not before marking the page), clutches the book close and stares at him with wide eyes. “You dare speak such blasphemy of Hiroki!?”

“Hiroki dies.” Oikawa walks by to get to his lair and do his hair or manicure his claws or whatever. His hair is in his eyes, and he casually flicks the wet bangs aside. Sawamura warns him to stop dripping all over their carpet. Honestly, the guy needs to learn how to towel himself off right after a shower. Oikawa, however, never listens to any of them, preferring to dry naturally because _ugh_ , his skin gets all dry and gross if he rubs at it with Sawamura’s tasteless (orange is _so_ last year) and cheap towel. 

Bokuto’s head turns at a nearly perfect 360 degree angle, or it would’ve, if he didn’t have any bones in his neck. Though his eyes are still predator-like when he snaps. “Was that a fucking spoiler, asshole?”

Oikawa simply shrugs. “Just trying to make it easier for you to deal with the future loss of your fictional boyfriend.”

Bokuto pounces. Oikawa’s towel falls off in his attempts to fend the rabid man off. Kuroo wonders where exactly he went wrong and what he did in his past life to deserve this torture, all the while trying to look aside because Oikawa’s dick flopping around truly isn’t a sight to behold. Sawamura calmly rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, ready to separate the two troublemakers.

One would say that life is normal, but it really isn’t.

And they all are painfully aware of it.

 

-

 

Okay so maybe Oikawa isn’t all that... fond of Bokuto. Or of any of his roommates. Sawamura is an _okay_ guy to talk to when he isn’t busy forcing his stupid house rules on their innocent heads, as innocent as Kuroo and Bokuto can get anyways. Oikawa thinks that he doesn’t do anything wrong. Then again, he always thinks that. Being a perfect human being has its perks.

Now if only he was actually secure enough to truly think that, all of his problems would’ve disappeared all the way back in middle school, but life just ain’t that easy. But this isn’t his story and he had to begrudgingly admit that he needed to help Bokuto if he wanted his life to stay… well as it good as it gets. Which isn’t much. 

He couldn’t afford to lose the person he loved most – not that he would ever admit that, otherwise Iwa-chan might feel like he had an upper hand and that was a thing that was absolutely not supposed to happen, like _ever_ – because Bokuto decided to take out his anger (of that failed and quite silly romance) on him.

Oikawa wanted security, stability. Bokuto… was making it hard to help him.

It was a challenge explaining the deeper messages Natsukawa – well, Akaashi Keiji – had encoded in his novels. He had almost popped a blood vessel or two or even three if he was being _honest_ , because trying to explain this subtlety to an oaf like that guy was too… draining, to say the least.

In his opinion, agreeing to help Bokuto Koutaro was the most divine and merciful thing Oikawa Tooru has ever done in his life. And really, not bothering with the cleaning duty anymore? Definitely worth it. Sawamura had no objections to the shift of their schedule much to Bokuto’s obvious dismay. 

Oh, he wanted to weasel his way out of that, but Oikawa didn’t let him and no amount of forged stories about a broken spine or his almost deadly ‘overworking’ condition could help. Nor did it move Sawamura, he didn’t even shed a single tear – again, much to Bokuto’s overly dramatic shock and disdain. This was the reason why Tooru liked the commanding guy, he was actually dependable, unlike the other two annoyances who never truly did anything good or useful to him other than exist, consume _his air_ and make _his life_ a miserable mess of stolen food and dirty clothes randomly appearing in Oikawa’s newly washed laundry basket.

The look of pure joy in his owl-haired rival’s disgustingly sparkly eyes when he brought back the quite decent in length novels by Bokuto’s suddenly discovered favorite author or whatever made Oikawa’s heart constrict with some sort of compassionate happy feeling but he had quickly killed it. He couldn’t afford to let himself go soft in this cruel society of four men in total. 

Bokuto had even thanked him. Oikawa had to put an end to that right as he was about to get bear hugged.

“Don’t think this changes anything between us. You’re still on duty.”

“I was about to say ‘thanks for having a human side in you, ice queen’ but I am taking it back.” Bokuto smiled cheekily and flipped him off in a strangely friendly way. “For a sec there I thought you cared.”

Oikawa made a face. “Ugh no. God no. I don’t.”

“Rivals?”

“You better sweep the floor in my room twice; I don’t want you doing a sloppy job.”

Still, he had taken the extended hand in a firm handshake, hoping to break some of Koutaro’s bones.

 

-

 

What he didn’t expect, however, was the sudden interest he had developed once Bokuto opened his proverbial bag and the cat jumped out of it. 

“If he keeps slipping away, why don’t you just corner him? Buy him flowers maybe?”

Bokuto looked up from his copy of ‘At dusk we will find it’, Oikawa’s personal favorite work, and glanced at his… still rival (the fact that they were having a whole lot more of decent conversations than they did in the past hadn’t changed anything) and shot him the most bored and unimpressed stare that was offensive in the narrowed angle and the arch of Bokuto’s eyebrows alone. 

“If there’s one guy I ain’t taking dating advice from, it’s you. The hell are you? Mr. Suave?”

“I’m the only person who has an open relationship, unlike Sawamura’s closet case.” Oikawa muttered, cradling his face in his palms. Bokuto had a hard time keeping that one to himself and rattled it off to his roomies five hours later. “Or Kuroo’s… whatever, pretty sure he’s gonna get old and wrinkly surrounded by 72 cats.”

“Kuroo has more chances to score a lifetime partner than you ever will.”

“Kuroo’s too busy being fucked by you to get them.”

“Kuroo’s dick is not my business anymore.”

“Hard to get out that owl scent from his clothes?”

“You’re dating Iwaizumi Hajime.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult?” Oikawa scowled but Bokuto simply raised one hand in a pacifying way. Unwilling to fight? Stranger danger.

“Shut the fuck up and let me finish. This is the reason why I ain’t taking any of your stupid telenovela speed romance 101 ideas. You’re dating a guy who can’t even take a hint. He’d probably pick it up from the ground, dust it off and shove it back to your ugly face.”

“When you say ugly face, you’re referring to yourself in my situation, aren’t you? Isn’t this being too hard on yourself? Though I agree with this statement-“

“Don’t sass me, shitrag.”

“I’m sorry what was that? I was too busy staring at your ugly face, I think I saw it move. It’s like I’m watching the Discovery channel.”

As usual they got into another fight but for once it didn’t end in bruises that took three weeks to heal. They sat in a not quite silence, tension still thick in the air and some Korean girl crying in the background over her boyfriend who slept with her best friend though they were supposed to get married in a week. A typical shitty drama, Bokuto thought bitterly, as Oikawa planned his demise. 

That was a good episode too.

He was beginning to re-immerse himself in yet another IQ killing, brain-washing love story when Bokuto rudely interrupted him, half of his face obscured by his black hoodie. By then, he was almost melting into the sofa and in Oikawa’s eyes he looked like a particularly ugly and ratty bag.

“I’m… seriously out of ideas here,” the owl-haired man sighed, peeled his eyes away from the ridiculous scene unfolding on the TV and glanced at Oikawa, eyebrows furrowed.

The brunet could only sigh. The sooner he’ll say something, the sooner he’ll be left in peace.

“I can’t believe I am saying this. Or doing this for that matter…”

“Stop whining.”

“Shush, or you will never hear me give legit advice ever again.” Bokuto mouthed something that sounded suspiciously like ‘why can’t we get that option when it comes to you talking in general’ to which Oikawa had responded by ‘accidentally’ kicking his shin. Hard. “You should just be yourself. Do what you do the best, be blunt and stupid and just… try to talk to him? Just wait for the right opportunity or he’ll call the security, I feel it.”

“Which magazine article regarding self confidence did you get this from?” Bokuto snorted, all skeptic and so very annoying. Sadly murder wasn’t allowed. If only they changed the laws a bit… then again Oikawa figured that he could make it seem like an accident. A gas leak and an accidental fire maybe? “If he rejects you – kill him.”

“Now that sounds more like you.”

Oikawa simply made a cheerful noise in the back of his throat as Bokuto spoke up, trying to seem indifferent, failing excessively. “…So about those flowers.”

Ah, so he really did have some common sense in him, as little as it was. Oikawa leaned back and laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Nah, don’t do that. It’s too forward and stupid. Unless you’re aiming for the cliché trope, then go ahead and be a romantic stalker prince you always wished to be.”

“Almost sounds like you care.” Bokuto had the guts to nudge his ribs with his stone-destroying pointy ass elbows. The brunet nudged back harder.

“Still don’t, sorry to disappoint. Oikawa-san won’t grace you with his divine protection and immense heavenly—“

In a blink of an eye Bokuto smacked his palms against the sofa and rose up, his gaze awkwardly shifting away from his rival. “Oh-kaaay… Time to leave.”

Finally. Jeez.

“Get some milk if you’re going outside. And some soda,” Oikawa simply called out as Bokuto went to his room, stretching all the while. Imitating a couch potato had taken a toll on his body.

“Get your own damn soda.”

“It’s not for me, it’s for the family. If you buy it specifically for me then next time I open the fridge it will be gone. So technically you’re getting it for yourself. Oooh mindblowing, isn’t it.”

Bokuto couldn’t help but snort at that. They always did steal all of Oikawa’s junk food. It was like a pact between him and Kuroo. “Pffff- yeah. Yeah, okay then.”

“And this is how I save some cash.”

“Hey!”

Oikawa simply waved him off, attention already back on his stupid drama. “Bye. Also lock the door and possibly never come back.”

“Thanks for your care… mom!” Bokuto snorted and ducked out of the way when a slipper came hurtling at his face. Oikawa was glaring at him like the devil had possessed him. Oh no, that was wrong, Bokuto corrected himself, Oikawa was _the Devil_ in neon coloured tacky clothes and Nike sneakers and possibly hair curlers at night.

“Call me that one more time and see what happens,” he roared in order to threaten him and made an attempt to stand up but Bokuto merely slammed the door, laughing obnoxiously loud.

And so Oikawa hoped to heaven and hell that Bokuto Koutaro would never experience the joys of love, stupid hand holding, kissing or cuddling.

Huh, he suddenly felt an urge to bother Iwa-chan.

 

-

 

Bokuto likes taking advice. Good advice, of course. Oikawa… isn’t his first choice but honestly, Kuroo is a piece of shit who would rather make fun of him than offer any actual solutions.

“He’s a rich daddy’s boy, right?” Kuroo, Bokuto has noticed, will never stop calling Akaashi that. He has learned to unhear it but it still sends a pang of unexplainable anger down his spine. He should be joining in, but he can’t bring himself to say anything bad about the black-haired novelist. Not to mention he really does like those books, as complex as they are and he kind of sees himself in Hiroki. Maybe it’s because his best friend –a loveeeer, Oikawa says, along with the rest of Akaashi’s fanbase – is definitely something akin to Akaashi’s self insert. 

Bokuto said fuck it like ten thousand times in a row as he... tried out a fic or two. One of them left him in a state of constant denial aka he was found curled up on the floor buried under a blanket, eating ice-cream and watching cartoons by one very confused Sawamura. The guy even offered some sweets and a tissue for Bokuto’s stupid fanboy tears. If he could, he would sue his tear ducts, for they kept betraying him as of late.

“So maybe he lives somewhere fancy? Imagine that – a big house, a huge garden.” Kuroo walks to their kitchen table and sets down his cup of black coffee on it as he leans against it. 

Bokuto munches on a cookie as he perches on the counter, ankles crossed. He thinks about Kuroo’s description. It does seem likely. “Could be,” he says and wipes off some crumbs stuck on his lower lip. “Like, with two pools, a private jet, a tennis court, half of Japan’s baseball teams and other stuff. What of it?”

“So yeah, I was thinking you go up to the lover boy and ask him if he needs a servant.” Kuroo grins and Bokuto’s eyes widen comically as he imagines himself doing just that. He snorts.

“Dude, I can’t just do that! He’ll get a restraining order and only then turn me down.”

“No no no, wait, he won’t! You gotta be a suave fucker. Get your best maid dress on!” Kuroo is having a hard time forming sentences as he is cackling at his own story. He leans against the table sensually and keeps striking suggestive poses, wiggling his ass in time with the rise and drop of his eyebrows. “Ohh, Akaashi-sama, please take me… I’ll be in your care… Let me take care of that gun in your pocket, oh wait, it’s not a gun!” He gasps dramatically and Bokuto is doubling over from laughing so hard. “A++ man, guaranteed. You’re gonna get the job.”

“Gotta make sure to get a lifetime supply of maid dresses,” the silver-haired man chokes out and wipes at his damp eyes, still shaking with random bouts of giggling.

“Why I can get that right now,” Kuroo almost purrs and Bokuto stops laughing instantly.

“No…” he mutters, voice full of disbelief. Kuroo’s smirk doesn’t drop and he gasps in realization. “You didn’t!”

“Oh, but I did, muffin.”

“Oh shit, you’re a God. I bow down to you.”

“Just Kuroo will suffice.” He graciously slides off the table and folds his arms before him, his ass still in the air, and it’s definitely the end of the maid act and the beginning of something else. An invitation, Bokuto thinks. “So do I get it and prove you that I don’t break any bets or…?”

His only response is Bokuto crossing that short distance between them as he presses himself against Kuroo’s back, hands placed on the table to support his weight as he whispers into his ear. “You do that and I will fuck you on this table.” He shifts his hips in a teasing circle against Kuroo’s firm buttocks and it’s enough to make the black-haired man’s breath hitch. “Or we can skip that part and do it right now?”

“All I heard from your mouth was blablabla ‘fuck you on this table’.” Kuroo hisses when Bokuto bites on the shell of his ear. “But… mhh… just so you know, if you break this table, you pay for this fucking table.”

“Fair enough, bro. Fair enough.”

He’s not allowed to say more because Kuroo is shifting and those chapped lips are on his and Bokuto’s mind shuts down like it always does. It’s one of the biggest pros of being fuck buddies with your best pal.

He’s allowed to forget Akaashi and the shame he feels a week of longing later, a week of failed attempts to be noticed.

 

-

 

Sawamura returns one hour later and barely holds himself back from smacking his forehead. _These two_ will be the reason he’s going to get premature grey hairs. 

Bokuto is crouching down, his tongue sticking out as he and Kuroo try to hot glue together some parts of what once was their kitchen table. They look up guiltily, eyes wide and before Kuroo can open his mouth and try to explain it, Sawamura waves his hand in the air.

“I don’t wanna know.”

“Sorry?”

“Save it. Who’s paying for this mess _this time_?”

Kuroo points at Bokuto and that’s really all the explanation he needs.

The duo gives up on their lame attempts to fix the irreparable three minutes later when Kuroo gets some of the hot stickiness in his hair and they set out in search for a new kitchen table. Once they’re at least a few kilometers away from their apartment, the black-haired man shoves his hands into his pockets and speaks up, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips.

“At least he didn’t notice that his favorite cup got destroyed.”

“Having sex on that thing was by no means a good idea.” Bokuto whines and rubs the bruise blooming on his forearm. Kuroo merely shrugs.

“You loved it.”

“I was bleeding from my face.”

“You’re just complaining coz you gotta pay for it.”

“True that.” The shorter one can’t keep up the act anymore and jumps on his best friend in attempts to headlock him and give him a noogie. Kuroo hisses and paws at his prying arms. 

Breaking the table? Worth it.

 

-

 

Bokuto is pretty sure he is never taking Oikawa’s advice again.

He spends a week trying to find a good opening to ask Akaashi out for a coffee or just talk to the man all the while avoiding Sawamura’s inquisitor stare. Sawamura is blissfully unaware that Bokuto has been possibly camping out between the shelves of the spacious bookstore, seeking out Akaashi’s slim form whenever he could. 

The guy is a blur of movement, constant and a bit laggy as though he wasn’t getting enough sleep. And it did seem like it, sometimes his tie would be crooked or he would talk on his phone and accidentally run into someone, knocking over a stack of books in their arms. Like Sawamura, Akaashi seems completely anal about everything he’s doing and watching him rub at his droopy eyes and rub his neck, lips parted as though he was feeling intense pain just by doing this much kills Bokuto on the inside.

But he never approached the other after being brushed off for like three times in a row. Akaashi had made it pretty clear that he did not have any intention of starting a willing conversation with Bokuto any time soon, he would only say hello and walk away or completely ignore his presence.

But Bokuto was persistent.

Until he was discovered.

He was sneaking around the corner trying to get a glimpse of Akaashi typing away at his laptop in lighting speed while trying to balance his mobile phone on his shoulder and reach for a styrofoam cup of what was probably a black coffee at the same time. Bokuto has no idea how the hell he didn’t slip away from Sawamura’s watchful eagle-like gaze at the time, after all he was doubled over, and the shelf full of sci-fi books completely hid him from the counter.

When Akaashi lifted his dark eyes completed with black bags beneath them, Bokuto immediately backed away and right into someone’s hips.

“Oh shit, sorry,” he threw over his shoulder and hoped that the stranger would walk away but then he heard ‘the stranger’ clear his throat. A sound that he could never mistake, not even in his worst nightmares. 

Bokuto blanched, a feeling of utter dread settling in the pit of his stomach as he lifted his eyes and met Sawamura Daichi’s demonic stare. He looked like he was ready to throw him out through the window, glass raining everywhere.

“What are you doing here?” he said overly calmly but judging by the twitch near his nose it was obvious that Daichi was this close to full blown homicide.

Bokuto quickly tried to bullshit a story but instead of clever responses and garbled thoughts the only thing that he had managed to say was “I was thinking about bringing you this awesome sandwich since I was around and you’re on your break yeah? And I kind of thought, hey, it would be a waste of money so I ate it.”

Literally. What. the. Fuck. 

‘Bokuto Koutaro, you’re an idiot’ was his last thought as Daichi’s chest expanded with an indignant intake of air and…

He will never forgive that guy for embarrassing him in front of Akaashi Keiji who had jumped up from his table by the window to check what the commotion was about. He will never forget the roll of those tired eyes as he simply told Sawamura to ‘please escort _this man_ outside’.

Bokuto knows for sure that he will never forget the way his heart sank all the way to his feet and into the ground when their eyes met. He will also never forget the bitterness he felt when Oikawa cracked up at the story and he will never forget Kuroo and Sawamura holding them back as they stared heatedly at each other, faces flushed with anger.

They’re both in the wrong.

Their normal life? It’s crumbling apart.

 

-

 

Kuroo doesn’t like this version of Bokuto. Sure, his best friend tends to get super angry over stupid things but that anger usually dies down a day or two later.

It’s been four days and fifteen hours and his friend is still not over the bookshop incident. He spews curses more often than a hardass sailor and gets mad at literally every single thing. Kuroo is pretty sure that yesterday he had seen Bokuto trying to pick a fight with a can of soda because it ‘wouldn’t fucking open what the fucking hell I paid for you, you piece of traitorous fuck’.

Okay so Oikawa wasn’t completely one hundred percent off with his advice – Kuroo would never, not in a million years, be desperate enough to beg His Condescension for any kind of advice regarding something as delicate and serious as the topic of romance – but Bokuto is also in the wrong for taking it to the… extremes. He should consider himself lucky that Akaashi didn’t decide to call the security and get his ass sued for disturbance of peace. Not like he can tell Bokuto any of that because Kuroo knows one thing for sure; he prefers his nose with 0 broken bones. His pal has a mean left hook.

So Bokuto is a brooding tempest of what seems to be a man period and post-teenage angst rolled into one and if one of them says something wrong, Bokuto will go off like a time bomb or explode like a Molotov cocktail of rage and bullshit feelings.

The silver-haired man decides to cut the human contact, especially with Oikawa whom he refuses to look into the eye and that feeling is mutual. Instead he resorts to drinking and that doesn’t sit well with Kuroo by the end of the fourth day.

“You’re drinking?”

Bokuto looks away from a particularly interesting spot on a blank wall covered by moldy ancient wallpaper that’s steadily peeling at the corners of the room, back to the bottle of what seems to be good old Russian vodka clutched in his hand and then his gaze skitters to Kuroo again. “Yeah, so?”

“So, you shouldn’t be drinking alone.”

“And you shouldn’t boss me around like I’m twelve, Tetsu, because I’m fucking not. Grow up.” Tetsu. He only calls him that when he is particularly upset or angry. And drunk. Definitely drunk. 

Kuroo has expressed time and time again that under no other circumstances is he to be called by this name. It’s just too... shameful. “Dude, you don’t even like this brand.”

“Hey bro, a question. Do you like your…” Bokuto hiccups and waves his free hand in the air, eyebrows furrowed in concentration and eyes crossing. It’s obvious he’s had one too many. “Junk ‘n stuff,” he mutters after a while. Kuroo raises an eyebrow.

“Last time I checked, yeah I do.”

“Would you still fuckin like it if I kicked it black and blue?” Bokuto has the audacity to glare at him and that look in his eyes means business. Again, as Kuroo had mentioned before, Bokuto is a tough fighter.

He lifts his hands up in a show of mock surrender. “Jesus, who the heck crawled up your ass and died?”

Bokuto snorts and places the bottle on the floor as he flops down on his bed and rubs his eyes. It’s obvious college won’t be an option for him tomorrow. The black-haired man makes a mental note to drop by at Yaku’s and give Bokuto at least some notes to catch up on.

“My life expectations and dreaaaams, bro-bro,” he drawls out and it’s followed by a muffled hiccup. Kuroo can’t see his eyes but he knows what that palm is hiding. “Suckssss, man. Sucks big time.”

“I know.”

“You don’t.” He laughs as hot tears roll down his face. “You don’t know because you ain’t fucking stupid enough to fall in love with a stranger and then fuck it up completely. It hurts like a bitch, so don’t say you know shit.”

Kuroo keeps his jaw clenched. He’s not ready to tell Bokuto anything. Not ready to tell him that he may actually be going through the same but he has no way to compare to this. It’s clear to him already that Bokuto’s situation is way worse. After all, whenever his best friend fell for someone, he went full out with them. None of that crush phase.

It just so happened that he had chosen the wrong person. And speaking of wrong people…

“Call, m’ Tsukki…” Bokuto whispers, breathing heavily. He seems to have calmed down a little bit, yet his palm is still over his eyes. “Call Tsukki… please,” he repeats and Kuroo simply furrows his brows.

“No, dude. We are not calling Tsukki.”

“I need Tsukki…. Kuroo, c’mon, don’t be a dick.”

“What you need right now is go the fuck to sleep.” Kuroo cuts off and moves to the bed. He will force Bokuto to sleep no matter what. “You’re talking utter bullshit right now, trust me, the last thing you need right now is talk to goddamn Tsukishima.” The silver-haired man rolls onto his side and faces the wall and the taller one pulls the blankets over him. “Stop acting like a masochist, seriously.”

“He’ll understand.”

“What will he understand exactly?”

“Fuckin’ everything… Kei knows a lot of stuff and he’ll …” his friend murmurs and tosses around a little. Kuroo’s eyebrow quirks in a questioning way.

“What? What do you mean? Hey Bokuto? You awake?” He almost wants to shake him awake and ask him for real answers but Bokuto is out cold, soft snores escaping him as he clutches onto the pillow like it’s a lifeline.

Kuroo figures that he should simply leave him alone. Undressing him might wake him up and he just looks so peaceful like that that he doesn’t have it in him to even attempt it. He simply takes the almost empty bottle and turns off the lights, closing the door behind him.

That night he doesn’t sleep. Instead he thinks about his friend and he wonders for a few seconds if maybe it’s okay to feel this prick of disdain towards Akaashi for wrecking his friend like this, intentional or not.

He wonders if it’s okay to still feel this muted hatred for one Tsukishima Kei two years later, knowing for a fact that Bokuto still has yet to move on.


End file.
